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COPYRIGHT DEPOStr. 




The Author 



Wayside Musings 



By 

LUMAN A. BALLOU 

It 



ILLUSTRATED 




New York 

FLEMING H. REVELL PRESS 

1911 



Copyright, 1911, by 
LUMAN A. BALLOU 



T5 3 ro 3 
/111 



New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
Chicago: 125 North Wabash Ave. 
Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W. 
London: 21 Paternoster Square 
Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street 






gCI.A305738 



GRJ TEFULL Y DEDICA TED 

TO MY 

DEAR WIFE 



PREFACE 

In this little collection of various subjects, put 
in verse, the author claims no credit for superior- 
ity, or for any thought not expressed before by 
others. The verses were written over a period of 
about Mty years and were composed simply for 
the gratification or pleasure they gave at the 
time. Many of the reading public labor under a 
mistaken idea, and seem to think the poets write 
mostly of themselves ; but a more erroneous con- 
clusion could hardly be entertained. They, of 
course, write of some things that have more or 
less to do with their oa^ti experience but mostly of 
what they have read, or events that happen 
around them in ordinary, everyday life. Many 
of the poems are true in their entirety while 
others are a compilation of various circum- 
stances, others, idle dreamings. The author has 
tried to avoid plagiarism, but has used the style 
of verse, which we are inclined to regard as com- 
mon property. They w'ere written with no 
thought of remuneration except as stated above, 
and until within six months no serious thought 
was entertained by the author for their publica- 
tion, and now it is only by the earnest solicita- 
tion of friends that consent was given. The 
verses were composed under all sorts of condi- 
5 



6 PREFACE 

tions pertaining to a busy farm life. Neither 
eulogy nor criticism is invited. 

"Silver and gold have I none, but such as I 
have give I thee. ' ' — Acts 3 : 6. 

Whether good or indifferent they had their 
origin in the following manner : 

When in the fields behind my team, 

Or in my sleigh or wagon, 
Many a line would come to mind. 

But none I wish to brag on; 
No den, or sanctum I possessed. 
My knee, or dashboard was my desk, 
And when a theme much me impressed 

I simply tacked a tag on. 

Whether good or ill, I cannot tell. 

But as a general rule. 
Parents love their children just as well, 

Be they deft, deformed or fool. 
So I've gathered up at my command, 
My offsprings in this little band. 
And sent them forth to fall or stand, 

By critics wise and cool. 

L. A. B. 



CONTENTS 

A Soldier 's Musings 31 

An adieu to my home 45 

Ah, na, I canna gang wi ye 47 

Adolph 's adieu to Kosa 53 

A Journey from Home 58 

At the Grave of a Friend 100 

At the end of a Gubernatorial Contest 132 

A Line to a Grand-child 146 

A Wail of Woe 154 

An Answer 172 

Apropos The Scarlet Letter 206 

A Mother's Lament for her Dead Babe 208 

A Fragment 215 

A Father's Acknowledgment of His Daughter's 

Picture 225 

An Acrostic 232 

An Acrostic 237 

An Acrostic 239 

Blueberries Blue 88 

Consolation 173 

Death 's Warnings 24 

Diverse Circumstances 134 

Desperation 238 

Excerpts from "A Vision of the Unemployed" . 114 

Explanation 115 

Fair Jennie 48 

Fair Imogene waiting her Lover 95 

Food and Sleep, or Little Willie 176 

7 



8 CONTENTS 

Franchise 232 

Facts and Prophecy, or The Editor's Hard Fate. . 234 

Grandfather's Pig 164 

Good Bye 256 

Hunting the Coon 141 

His First Prayer 157 

Hail Chester 223 

How can we sing? 230 

I'm with you Darling in my Dreams 31 

Idle Musings 55 

I lay me down to sleep 202 

June 44 

Jinny Jimps , 49 

John Jones 167 

John and Mary 215 

Kitty Good Bye 174 

La Grippe 35 

Love 's Language 98 

Love and Fear 145 

Lines written for Wm. Doyen while he was ill . . 241 

Letter to Eeal Estate Agt 245 

My Lady 27 

My fair Louisa 57 

My pretty White Eose 89 

My Heart is there 93 

My Ideal 97 

My Jennie 101 

Man versus Sheep 137 

My Father 's Dream 146 

My Singing Wife 243 

My Grandmother's Story 246 



CONTENTS 9 

Ode on Man 20 

Ode on the Death of a Dog 36 

O, -what -will that Last Parting be? 52 

O, for some dear Hand to make my Bed 144 

Only a Few Years Back 169 

Keuben and E 3se 62 

Kegret 87 

EecoUections 162 

Resignation 204 

Shall I be missed? 29 

Sorrowing 100 

The Eiver of Life 17 

The Tramp 33 

The Brat 39 

That Early Spring 41 

Thanks for a Book from a future Son-in-law .... 56 

The Nobleman 's Choice 84 

That Sweet Syringa 61 

To Mrs. Mary E. Babcock 85 

The Maid with the Golden Hair 86 

To Julia 90 

The Lover 's Quarrel 91 

Thanks to a Lady for an Invitation to Dinner ... 99 

The Eeason 99 

The Loafer's Story 102 

The Wanderer's Bride 106 

The Old Gray Spider 117 

The Crow and the Lamb 122 

The Dance at "Warren 's Pond 128 

The Whip-poor-will 171 

Two Little Girls 173 

The Clerk of Pigeon 's Store 181 

The Old Man's Story 194 

The Golden Eobin 210 



10 CONTENTS 

'Tis Sweet to be remembered 228 

The Millennium 236 

The Shiftless Old Farmer 240 

When Love is cold 42 

White Aproned Susie 50 

Waiting in the Corridor 124 

Wantas 'quet Valley 213 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Fage 

Luman A. Ballou Frontispiece V 

"I seemed to see you just as then" 60 / 

"And speeding skyward towards some starry ^ 

land" 114 IT' 

"A big bell wether from out the flock" 138"^ 

So he threw himself under a little spruce, and in 

a minute was fast asleep 179 

Main Street, Chester, Vermont 224 '"^ 



A SKETCH 

The author of these poems, Luman Adolphus 
Ballou, was bom in Danby, Vermont, July 1st, 
1844, being the sixth in a family of ten children, 
and the only one having the distinction of birth 
in a log house, the family temporarily living in 
one at this period. "While still a small lad, his 
father bought a lot, and erected a cottage, in a 
little valley in Pawlet, where memory weaves 
many a web, a few of which appear in "Recol- 
lections." Being far from a school his advant- 
ages were meagre and a board and blackened 
coal were often his only slate, tablet or pencil. 
Very early the muse of poetry seemed to haunt 
the little fellow, as this fragment is preserved 
composed when seven years old. In climbing a 
small tree, to look into the nest of a goldfinch he 
accidentally spilled the eggs and this was his ac- 
count of the affair : 

'Twas on last Wednesday, I will confess, 
I robbed a yellow bird of her nest; 
I plagued her to a sore degree, 
But now the same it does plague me. 

When she saw her eggs had fell. 
This poor old bird set up a yell. 
Such screams and cries I never heard, 
As come from that old mother bird. 

Then I started for my home, 
By myself and all alone, 
"I think I'll never do so again, 
To give a poor bird so much pain." 

13 



14 A SKETCH 

One by one, mother, father, and half the chil- 
dren had passed on by the time he had reached 
his sixteenth year, leaving a young brother and 
sister to his guardian care, so scholastic advant- 
ages were still very much curtailed and like his 
distinguished, though distant relative the Rev. 
Hosea Ballou, unremitting labor was his portion, 
snatching a leaf here and there from the tree of 
learning, as opportunity afforded, till the break- 
ing out of the Civil War. Patriotism ran high 
among the young men of the commimity and he 
offered himself with others for the country's 
service, several times being rejected on account 
of youth and slenderness, but at last was ac- 
cepted and making provision for the children 
dependant upon him, went to the front at nine- 
teen years of age as a recruit of Company G, 
Seventh Regiment Vermont Volunteer Infantry. 
His feelings at this period are expressed in "A 
Soldier's Musings." He served two and one- 
half years in the Department of the Gulf, sta- 
tioned at Forts Barrancas and Pickens, Florida, 
was at the taking of Mobile and Defences, and 
later at Brownsville, Texas, being mustered out 
of the United States service March 14th, 1866. 

Some time after returning he married, and be- 
gan the life of a farmer and stock dealer, which 
vocation he has followed ever since in the towns 
of Andover, Windham and Chester. The Poetic 
muse has been his rather erratic companion, 
sometimes forsaking him entirely, at others 



A SKETCH 15 

spinning yarns and rhymes incessantly. In 
Windham his home nestled at the foot of Glebe 
Mountain. On removal to his present home the 
following item appeared in the County paper: 
"L, A. Ballou, the Glebe Mountain poet for the 
Londonderry "Sifter" and Vermont "Tri- 
bune," has begun to move his goods to Chester, 
where he is soon to become a resident. "Whether 
he can muse as well in the valley as on the hill 
remains to be seen. During his residence here 
he has been an active and successful business 
man, and will be missed." 

That the muse has been even more kind in the 
later years is proved by the number of produc- 
tions. Many are stories told to the little boy by 
father and grandmother. One by his father was 
the foundation of "Death's Warnings." Years 
after its production, a similar one entitled ' ' The 
Three Warnings," by Mrs. Thrale, came to his 
notice and he was struck by their close resem- 
blance ; yet the muse developed the theme some- 
what differently in the two minds. "John and 
Mary" and "Grandmother's Story" are other 
examples of the nine year old boy's attention to 
tales as told by a loved Grandmother. 

Thanks are due and gladly given to all who 
have in any way aided in making this volume a 
success, and we hope the anticipated pleasure of 
friends may be fully realized. 

Mary A. Ballou. 



WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

THE RIVER OP LIFE 

SLOW fades the light in the western sky, 
The cool night breeze with moaning sigh 
Through hedge and trees went whistling by 
With doleful sound. 
All nature wearied at day's close, 
From real care or fancied woes, 
In ]\Iorpheus arms found sweet repose 
In sleep profound. 

No sound was heard but the wind's low howl, 
Except the note of some distant owl, 
Or call of some nocturnal fowl 

In vocal minstrelsy. 
For sweet repose I sought my cot. 
Meditation deep engaged my thought 
In things that are, though seeming not, 

A solemn mystery. 

At last kind sleep, the friend of man, 
]\Iy eye-lids touched with her magic wand, 
I was transferred from this mortal strand 
To perfect light. 
17 



18 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Brightest of suns were shining there, 
And sweetest song birds singing near, 
Reflected rays in water clear 
Dazzled my sight. 

A mighty river or crystal stream 
Whose fountain source no eye hath seen, 
From heights obscure, sublime, serene, 

It moved along. 
Wliile on its crest with seeming pride, 
All moving, heaving with the tide, 
Continually and swiftly glide 

A mighty throng. 

Then spake a voice in accents low, 
"I see my friend you fain would know 
From whence these come and where they go 

On this broad river. 
But those embarked can 't tell you why, 
Nor for this voyage did they apply. 
They are passing on as time passes by 

And know not whither. 

This mighty river that you see, 
Which moves along majestically. 
Flows from the mount Eternity 

From springs unknown. 
And those who float upon its tide 
Must pay the price the laws provide, 
Of certain death to all who ride 

Nor favor shown. 



THE RIVER OF LIFE 19 

The helpless babe on its mother's breast, 
So kindly cuddled, kissed, caressed, 
Is torn away from heart's distressed, 

Flung in the spray. 
Or decrepit age with tottering form, 
Whose only hope in life's dark storm, 
Their manly son away was borne 

The debt to pay. 

And so it is with every other 
Father, mother, sister, brother. 
Husband, wife, sweetheart or lover 

Soon must go down 
This dreadful stream whose onward flow 
So full of joy, so full of woe. 
Its final port no one can know, 

Yet hopes abound." 

And as I gazed while the tale was told. 
The placid stream grew dark and cold. 
Each joyous face looked pinched and old 
So changed the scene. 
Upon these waters must I ride, 
And by such fate must I abide ? 
I moaned, I groaned, awoke and sighed 
'Tis but a dream ! 



20 

ODE ON MAN 

THERE was a time when the world was 
yoimg, 
Aud man lay hid in silent Earth 
Like as a diamond, the sands among, 
Or the image in the unchiseled stone, 
When the mighty Master's hand began 
To bring him forth. 

So when the creative power was done, 

"With the make and mold of the phj^sical man, 
A summons went forth to every one, 
To before the Mighty Maker come. 
To receive endowments prepared for them 
By a generous giver's hand. 

The first advanced and received his prize 

From amid the gathered throng: 
The hearing ear, the seeing eyes. 
An understanding heart that makes one wise, 
And every art that doth comprise 
Or to wisdom doth belong. 

Life's joys are stale when once we know 
"What sorrow reigns within our land. 
He saw the world in morals low, 
He heard the wail of want and woe ; 
His soul the strain would not forego 
And perished by his own hand. 



ODE ON MAN 21 

The next with love was well supplied, 

Or with the tender passion given, 
For which none need to blush or hide. 
If only just and well applied, 
Earth's only hope, earth's only pride 
And joy of heaven. 

He took his gift to the full extent. 

Nor with restraint was he supplied; 
To love but one, was not content, 
On many loves his heart was bent, 
In folly 's train his life was spent 
And young he died. 

The next with caution, oft called care, 

Was given with abundant store, 
Which well directed anywhere, 
Is sure to yield an ample share 
Of all good things of this world's ware, 
Until our cup runs o'er. 

But this poor man was over-dosed, 

And viewed each scene from its darkest side ; 
Each passing cloud was a storm, almost, 
And every closet contained a ghost ; 
In anxious care his eyes were closed — 
He also died. 

Then came one to the giver near, 

With faltering step and unsteady eyes. 
And received a full amount of fear 



22 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Which made his life a torture here ; 
A thing of reproach, contempt and jeer, 
If not to be despised. 

A curious fact there doth appear, 

That man was made creation's king; 
And yet we find in every sphere 
The most abject Slave is the slave of fear, 
A shrinking, cringing, creature here, 
Afraid of everything. 

There's an ancient fable, that answers quite, 

Of the boys who stoned the frogs for fun. 
There's many a one who take delight 
In torturing those they can affright. 
And so this man, whether wrong or right. 
Was glad when life was done. 

The next with passion he did endow. 

The most wretched object e'er was born; 
He had small, black eyes, a low flat brow, 
The least reproof he would not allow, 
A subject of discord and row, 
A beast in human form, 

A jest or joke he could not stand. 

Each trifling thing his anger sprung, 
A real Ishmael in the land. 
Against each one he turned his hand, 
In a fit of rage he killed a man, 
And afterwards was hung. 



ODE ON MAN 23 

And many more among the crowd 

Were given gifts both small and great, 
Some were selfish, some were proud, 
Some to the god of mammon bowed. 
But every one that were endowed 
Received one common fate. 

But some there were in that array, 

Were given with no tacit rule, 
If by intent, as it might not pay, 
Or by mistake we can not say. 
They were so made and so they stay, 
The common bigot fool. 

And each were charged before starting out, 

To perform some certain task. 
Some, saw defeat ere they turned about. 
Others, disaster along the route 
But the fool declared without a doubt, 
"I can do anything you ask." 

When wisdom, love, fear and care. 

And passion in a fit of rage, 
Were either dead or in despair, 
The fool kept on with pompous air 
And thought his fate supremely fair. 
And died from extreme old age. 

Since all is vain beneath the skies 

As everything in reason show it; 
And bliss for ignorance is the prize, 



24 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

It is a folly to be wise. 

No better gift this world supplies. 

Than to be a fool and never know it. 



DEATH'S WARNINGS 

LEANDUS ROGERS of age we find, 
His twentieth year had left behind, 
A man to worldly sport inclined 
Without a care; 
While thoughts of a more substantial kind 
He could never bear. 

One day while in a joyous mood, 

With his favorite horse upon which he rode, 

While passing through a lonely wood, 

Or secluded glen, 
A horrid specter before him stood — 

The dread of men. 

Then said Leandus, "What is thy name, 
And for what purpose hast thou come? 
If for my service, don't refrain 

Your wishes showing; 
Otherwise I can't remain. 

Sir! I'd be going." 

"My name is Death," was the stern reply, 
"And none my mission can defy; 



DEATH'S WARNINGS 25 

I stop the breath and close the eye, 

Life's struggles o'er. 
I have come for you and you must die, 

Nor live you more." 

Then said Leandus, " 'Tis hardly fair, 
I've lived a life so free from care; 
I pray a little time you spare 

Me, to arrange 
]Sly future prospects and prepare 

For future change. ' ' 

"Well, then," said Death, "if that be so. 
For a season I will let thee go. 
For even Death can pity show 

To the sons of men, 
And by three signs I will let you Imow 

E'er I come again." 

And so the matter closed that day, 
Death taking his leave without delay. 
Leandus returned in great dismay. 

Yet, in after times, 
He kept the same unaltered way 

And watched for signs. 

Years passed by — a full two score — 
And yet were added a decade more ; 
And still old Rogers as before 

No sign had seen, 
But thought that Death had passed him o'er 

Or had forgetful been. 



26 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

One night while on his bed he lay, 
Death came again and thus did say: 
"Your time is up, now don't delay 

Or tarry here, 
You ne 'er can see another day ; 

The end is near. ' ' 

Then said Leandus, "How can this be? 

I was to have been warned by signals three; 

And though I've watched continually 

None have I seen. 
If even one had been given me 

Prepared I'd been." 

Says Death, "I warn without affright; 

I breathed on thy locks they all turned white 

I touched thine eyes they lost their sight, 

I stopped thine ear. 
I 've kept my word. This very night 

Ends thy career." 

Solemnly the clock upon the wall, 
Ticks off the moments as they fall ; 
A death-like stillness through the hall, 

A mystery dread. 
With the morning's sun, the servant's call 

Found Rogers dead. 



27 

MY LADY 

OLD time, you wretch, how dare do so? 
So much your Arab practice show, 
As on your headlong course you go 
From day to day ; 
So many gifts on us bestow 

Then take them all away. 

Each blooming youth, with rosy cheek, 
Whose star-lit eyes for pleasure seek, 
And every grace that health bespeak 

Soon fade away. 
The form is bent the voice grows weak; ' 

Alas, decay. 

My lady, once so young and fair, 
My pride, my comfort, and my care, 
Whose wealth of silken chestnut hair 

Was my delight ; 
Now other threads are gathering there, 

A snowy white. 

Her love-lit eyes all clear and bright. 
And pearly teeth all even, white, 
And cheeks the angels kissed, or might. 

If it could have been, 
Now those eyes with decreasing light 

Are growing dim. 

How changed those cheeks their roseate hue; 
Those once full lips now thin and blue, 



28 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Those pearly teeth decayed and few 

Now stand apart; 
Which is the voice to me, and you, 

"Of dust thou art;" 

The form once straight as the line appears 
Without the weight of care or fears, 
Except of childhood's joys and tears 

So quick and fleeting; 
Now thinner, paler, bent by years, 

Your voyage completing. 

Each flower must fade that bloomed in spring, 
Time sets its mark on everything; 
For such a cliange how deep the sting 

Old age, with silvery hair. 
If to the heart no change it bring 

What need we care. 

But lady, dear, do not repine ; 

We both must bow to the monarch time 

Who gave us youth, and health, and prime, 

Now takes it away. 
But still you 're good, and true, and mine, 

Till my last day. 



29 
SHALL I BE MISSED 

SIX thousand years have rolled away, 
Since man began, since man's decay; 
And all save those of the present day, 
That ever did exist, 
Are mouldering back to mother clay. 
And are they missed? 



The weary traveler nigh to sink, 
But struggling to the water's brink, 
And takes a long refreshing drink; 

"Whoever would insist, 
Or dare to say, or even think, 

That draught is missed? 



And so this ever changing throng. 
As with time's pace it moves along; 
"When one is taken from them among, 

By a hand that won't desist. 
Their place is filled; and is it wrong? 

How little missed! 



Were I in other lands to roam, 
In some other clime to find a home. 
Far from friends and places known, 

In former days of bliss, 
Will then they think of one that's gone? 

Shall I be missed? 



30 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

And when comes that cherished time, 

When the table lamps do brightly shine 

With the warm voiced stove, and kettle's chime; 

What charm so sweet as this? 
Will some one speak some word of mine? 

Shall I be missed? 

And when is stilled this mortal breath, 
The warm heart's blood is chilled by death, 
And I at last am summoned forth, 

By that power I can 't resist. 
Deep buried in the silent earth, 

Shall I be missed? 

And when the clothes I used to wear 
Are folded with such solemn care. 
And laid away up the chamber stair 

In some treasured trunk or chest, 
When some dear hand comes searching there, 

Shall I be missed ? 

But when that world that's hid from view, 
Shall ope its gates and let me through. 
And all those I ever loved, or Imew, 

Have crossed that dark abyss, 
Where death shall never more pursue, 

There'll none be missed. 



31 
''A SOLDIER'S MUSINGS" 

1LEFT my dear home and friends far away, 
All for a soldier to be, 
For the same reason which many have had, 
Which affords little pleasure to me, 
]\Iy prospect of joy in the fair sunny South, 

Is far too small to discern, 
But Dina she has no love for me. 
Therefore, I don't wish to return. 

It 's no trifling matter a soldier to be. 

Mid carnage and strife to be found. 
But like a true soldier my duty I'll do. 

If I like some others go down ; 
And if amid-battle I meet my death blow, 

And launch my bark off from life's shore. 
Adieu, my dear friends, likewise ye fair one. 

My few little troubles are o'er. 

"I'M WITH YOU DARLING IN MY 
DREAMS" 

SOFTLY the light of the morn is diffusing 
Sweetly the zephyrs sweep over the lea, 
All Nature seems singing a song of her 
choosing 
But sad are the echoes reflected on me. 
They mind me of joys in days long departed 
When I've tasted life's pleasures mid happier 
scenes, 



32 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Of my Kitty, so pretty, so kind, and true 
hearted ; 
Darling, I'm ever with you in my dreams. 

All the long day of yoil I am thinking 

What pleasures attend you, or how you may 
fare ; 
From the cup of regret I surely am drinking, 

Mine is the sorrow, yours is the care. 
How well I remember your often told promise 

It comes to my heart like an angel it seems 
Though years may have flo\Mi, and youth has 
gone from us 

Yet darling I 'm ever with you in my dreams. 

But Kitty, my darling, don't be discontented. 
And though we are severed, pray do not re- 
pine 
The fates that ordain, cannot be prevented 

But cherish the hope that is yours and mine. 
In the soft sighing winds I hear your voice call- 
ing; 
With remorseful regrets my memory teems. 
Sad and dejected, till night shades are falling, 
Then, darling, I'm ever with you in my 
dreams. 

What joy would it give, could I only be knowing 
These lines you could lay on your beautiful 
breast 



THE TRAMP 33 

And wish from a heart with love overflowing 
That my weary head there pillowed might 
rest. 

Remember my darling if you should deceive me 
]\Iy star will have set with its beautiful beams ; 

No reproof will I give, though sadly it grieve me, 
Still darling, I 'm ever with you in my dreams. 

Yes, darling, in slumber I seem to behold thee, 

I gaze on thy face, so sweet, and so fair. 
In a loving embrace, in my arms I enfold thee, 

And awake only kissing the cold, empty air. 
True love alone, time or distance can't sever 

Though friendship oft withers at parting, it 
seems. 
Waking or sleeping, I am with you ever. 

For, darling, I 'm ever with you in my dreams. 



THE TRAMP 

AS I sat warmly in the lamp light, 
Of a winter's eve an hour to spend, 
iMyself amusing, I was persuing 
Some beautiful stanzas "Wordsworth penned; 
"Whose words don't perish by the using, 
And worth will last till time shall end. 

Outside the cold west winds were blowing. 
With snow the earth was mantled o'er. 



34 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

A lire was glowing, and plants were growing, 
On window-ledge, and stool, and floor, 

"When there came a rapping, and a tapping, 
Like Edgar's "Raven" at my kitchen door. 

I quickly arose, to the door I hastened, 

And there by the light of the burning lamp. 

In the door-way just before me 
Stood a wretched shivering tramp, 

Whose every look and action showed me 
A vagrant of the lowest stamp. 

A night's lodging he requested; 

We know the blessed "Book" declares 
We should take heed whom we lodge, and feed, 

For some have Angels unawares ; 
On such a night, I could not concede 

That one would mix with this world's affairs. 

He said he'd tried long ere 'twas dark. 
But not a soul could he find to keep him. 

That all night long he would have to walk 
To keep himself from freezing; 

I told him then he'd better start. 
Which seemed anything but pleasing. 

He started off, and said no more. 

Then through the hall I did quickly run 

To the front door, just to explore, 
And see if he went the way he'd come. 

When back to me the night winds bore 
In tones most solemn, 0, ho, hum. 



LA GRIPPE 35 

I felt a lump come in my swallow. 

My pity 'rose for such a state, 
I felt a sorrow, and a horror, 

"When I remembered Christie's fate, 
I would have kept him till the morrow 

But he was gone, it was too late. 

Ofttimes our woes are self-invited, 
And many a life has been imdone 

By sinful sloth, or seasons slighted, 
The Siren's call or love of rum. 

And left in this bright world benighted 
To sadly murmur, 0, ho, hum. 

I often think of that winter's eve. 
Of what has that poor wretch become, 

And did I truly do my duty 

As said our Lord I should have done? 

For often to my memory surely 

Comes that voice heart-broken, 0, ho, hum. 



LA GRIPPE 

YE power that rules both earth and air, 
Who sends the rain and weather fair 
And scatters germs, we know not where, 
And spreads disease to many. 
One favor still we would implore, 
AVhat surplus grippe there is in store 
Please send it to some desert shore, 
"We do not wish for any. 



36 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Though plentiful we cannot praise 

An article so hard to raise, 

Which holds its grip for many days, 

Nor stops one blessed minute. 
With aching head and ague chills. 
And being fed on broth and pills, 
All being capped with doctor's bills, 

We don't care to be ''in it." 

All through this land, it speeds along, 

To hamlet lone or cities throng, 

Nor spares in mercy, weak nor strong 

From smallest to the largest. 
But leaves its track, now here, now there. 
The empty crib or vacant chair, 
While the doctor and the undertaker, 

Have reap'd a golden harvest. 



ODE ON THE DEATH OF A DOG 

GOOD-BY poor Jack, good faithful fellow, 
With hair so short of gray and yellow, 
Now still in death thou art. 
The powers that be, that brought you here, 
To live and love, to trust and fear, 
And every master to revere, 
Now bids you to depart. 

There is a clause in our modern laws. 
'Though I hardly see sufficient cause, 
Or reason why, 



ODE ON THE DEATH OF A DOG 37 

That every dog of a certain breed, 
However good for spunk or speed, 
By this self-same law it is decreed 
Must licensed be or die. 

It was no lack of yours, poor Jack, 

In character or grace ; 
But there are men with words so smooth, 
Whene 'r they wish to change their love, 
A former sweetheart will remove 

To give another place. 

And this you see was your master's plea, 

'Though said perhaps in fun : 
A pair of dogs he could not afford, 
And have to license, keep and board ; 
Besides, received but small reward, 

With business but for one. 

"When there was a sound of steps around. 

Or signs of approaching harm, 
Then quick rang out on the cool night air 
Your well-known bark, so sharp and clear, 
Showing a faithful sentinel there, 

Sounding the alarm. 

But, little Jack, could j^ou look back 

To scenes of earth, 
There's many a cur this world endures. 
By fraud and falsehood fame secures, 
Whose wretched life's worth less than yours, 

Not registered since birth. 



38 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

No promises were you known to break, 
Or any trade presume to make 

On Simday, conscience free, 
With mouth and paws all clean and neat 
From talking scandal or taking sheep, 
And never was caught in bed asleep 

Where another dog should be. 

In one thing more thou did exceed 
Thy brethren of the two-legged breed, 

Yes, more than one : 
At home you e'er was found at night. 
And on poor rum you ne'er got tight. 
Or led the young astray from right, 

Nor after sirens run. 

In life's bright days but little praise 

Concerning thee was said ; 
In this respect j'Ou're not alone, 
It is a fact that's clearly sho-^Ti, 
Great dogs and men are little known 

Till after they are dead. 

If only were given a license for living 

To those of worth and merit, 
There's many a one both high and low. 
Members of the church or no. 
Smuggling through this world must go, 

Or render up the spirit : 
You would have lived, while we should die, 

Good-by, poor Jack, good-by. 



31) 
THE BRAT 

HEY'O, my boy, all mirth and glee 
No prince's son, or high-born lad 
With joy can half so happy be 
And 3^et the fates have used you bad, 
Only two removes from a high degree, 
To ignorance, sloth and poverty. 

Some sneer at you, and make their brags 
That such as you their class disdains. 

Yet as good blood courses beneath your rags 
As ever throbbed through Caesar's veins 

Yet badly mixed, I must confess, 
With all that tends to lawlessness. 

You stone their cows and steal their fruit, 
And then you're not the least afraid. 

In time of need and destitute, 
With the boldest face to ask their aid. 

Then laugh, and skip, and have your fun 
O'er the very mischief you have done. 

Your greatest want is to eat and sleep, 
And care for naught but the present day. 

All education is obsolete, 

Except what tends to fun and play. 

You never knew your father's name, 
And care as little about the same. 

On yonder hill in that fine estate, 
Lives a gentleman in serene repose, 



40 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Highly respected, being rich and great, 
He is your grandpa, boy, yet no one knows ; 

And the chickens you stole the other night 
Belong to j'ou by a certain right. 

Your youthful days you spend in sport, 
Caring naught for the good and true. 

At an early age you seek and court 
And marry some girl as low as you, 

And then a numerous family raise 

For the poor-house or some penal place. 

How very proud must a parent be, 

If it so be they chance to know, 
To see his own posterity 

Descend the scale of life so low 
For sinful pleasure at length he found 

'Twas but sowing seed on stony ground. 

Sometimes out comes from such a race 

A man of vast superior mind, 
"Well qualified to fill each place 

Of trust and honor among mankind. 
And still we wonder at the fact, 

'Tis from stolen blood generations back. 

But creation moves and takes no heed 
Of erring man or what he's done. 

No favor shows any certain breed; 
Each get their share of rain and sun. 

And when a few short years are past 
All pay the debt of life at last. 



41 
THAT EARLY SPRING 

WHERE is the man and what's his name 
"Who conjured up and did proclaim 
An early spring we should obtain 
From such a winter? 
Against the humbug with disdain, 
Our protest enter. 

"When cold and fierce the winds did blow, 
And high was heaped the drifting snow, 
And all was steeped in cheerless woe, 

For us poor creatures, 
The frost crept through our wall below, 
And nipped our "taters. " 

With fingers froze and chilblained feet, 
And ears and nose that peeled complete, 
"While chilled potatoes, tho' slightly sweet. 

Are not the thing. 
Yet all these woes we did bravely meet, 
For our early spring. 



In shortest days and coldest weather, 
When warmth and joy had fled together, 
And naught was left to give us pleasure, 

But hope of spring so fair, 
"We calmed our rage in ample measure, 
Nor swore a sware. 



42 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Now what a scene for lovely May; 
No meadow green or flowret gay, 

While snow and mud their might display, 

O'er hill and plain, 
To give the past, for present pay. 
Does nothing gain. 

How could a man with sober face 
Tell such a lie and hope for grace? 
A trusting public's hope misplace; 

The wanton liar. 
When there's provided in such a case, 
A lake of fire ? 

A subject here seems well supplied. 
Which kindly cautions, "don't confide 
In things foretold," and yet beside. 

They may come so. 
Concerning things unseen, untried, 
No one can know. 



WHEN LOVE IS COLD 

f I ^HERE are some things, that do exist, 
That stand the test of time the same, 



1 



That all twist up, and then untwist. 

And then twist up again, 
And no one knows or seems to care, 

Or sees the least unworthy point, 
Or feel it is the worse for wear 

Because it once was out of joint. 



WHEN LOVE IS COLD 43 

The sun may rise, the sim may set, 

And yet next morning bright is seen; 
More welcome to the faces met 

Because the night has come between. 
And many a thing of highest mold 

IMay vacilate and still remain, 
But as for love when once it 's cold, 

It's never quite itself again. 

A graceless son may curse his dad, 

And lose his hope of earth and heaven, 
Deny the honor he should have had, 

Yet by that parent be forgiven. 
We should forgive, so we are told 

Full seventy and seven times the same ; 
But as for love, Avhen once it's cold, 

It's never quite itself again. 

Two friends "fall out," become estranged 

And for a while their friendship sever. 
But time at length may bring a change, 

They meet, make up, as good as ever, 
The kindly shake of hands they hold. 

Forgetting quite, which was to blame, 
But as for love, when once it's cold 

It's never quite itself again. 

Love is a brittle plant at best, 

Like Jonah 's gourd 'tis often found, 

Bitten by the worm of unfaithfulness, 
It pines, and Avithers to the ground. 



44 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Those once repulsed, meet as of old, 

The charm is fiown, their words are vain, 

For as for love, when once its cold 
It's never quite itself again. 



JUNE 

NOW comes the lovely summer scenes, 
The leafy month of June, 
When screen doors and window screens 
Are in their fullest bloom. 

When corn delights in the sort of nights 

That girls kick off the clothes, 
The mosquito's wing foretells his sting 

And breaks their sweet repose. 

When the farmer doth for want of breath 

Pulls off his boots and hose, 
And at his work through dust and dirt, 

Most cheerily he goes. 

When night has come and prayers are done, 

He creeps beneath the sheet 
But his old frau kicks up a row, 

And makes him wash his feet. 

Then down the stairs a swearing prayers. 

And thus he frees his mind. 
If this is the pay I get when I pray, 

I'll try the other kind. 



45 
"AN ADIEU TO MY HOME" 

COLDLY the breath of the ]\Iareh wind is 
blowing, 
Dim burns the lamp on the table near 

by, 
Low murmurs the fire, its comfort bestowing 

Yet how little heeded, so wretched am I. 
Sadly I sit, my feet on the fender, 

Recalling the friends that few could excel, 
But ever anon comes a strain I remember, 
As heard in my youth, "The Wanderer's 
Farewell." 

Sad is my heart, my tears nearly falling, 

For soon I must part from a long cherished 
home. 
By an act of my own, I would not be recalling 

But to sever the tie, cuts deep to the bone. 
"With manly endeavor I try to surmount it 

And think of the joys of which other folks tell. 
But home-sick and heart-sick however I count it, 

No words seem so sad as a solemn farewell. 

Here's where for twenty long years I have tar- 
ried, 
Years frought with pleasure, though sprinkled 
with pain ; 
Home of my bride when first we were married 
Cemented by ties we shall know not again. 



46 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Here 's where the smi has shone ou us brightly . 
What the future may bring us no mortal can 
tell, 
And yet while I ponder comes that sad line so 
lightly 
As sang by my teacher, "The Wanderer's 
Farewell." 

Here's where I've watched the growth of my 
children, 
Their sweet sunny faces, and light flaxen hair ; 
Happy my heart as often I've held them 

Now grown from my lap and gone from my 
care. 
Yet while I live, my wish will be ardent 

With hope for their welfare, my bosom will 
swell. 
But think as I may, that strain is still present. 
Adieu, my dear mountain, "The Wanderer's 
Farewell. ' ' 

Many and many long miles have I wandered 
For the sake of some fancy, for the sake of 
some friend. 
Musing with pleasure as sweet thoughts I've 
pondered 
But time brings its changes and here it must 
end. 
Faces, and places, how soon we must sever, 
I turn from your portal 'mid strangers to 
dwell ; 



AH, NA ! I CANNA GANG WI YE 47 

But one little joy will remain with me ever, 
In mind lives the music, "The Wanderer's 
Farewell." 



AH, NA! I CANNA GANG WI YE 

AH, dearie, why will ye ask me this ? 
Ye ken my ain temptations Strang, 
And when I see ye'er bonny face 
I canna keep from gieing wrang. 
Right weel ye ken my heart is thine, 

For what ye've been and are to me 
Warlds wod I gie if ye were mine, 
And yet I canna gang wi ye. 

Ye tare my heart to ask sic things. 

And Where's the proof ye'd baud ye'er vow' 
How do I ken but ye'd leave me then, 

Just as ye 'd leave anither now ? 
'Tis then sma comfort should I take. 

Better bide til' we are free, 
Maybe ye '11 find some ither luv, 

Ah, na! I canna gang wi ye. 

If flowery banks our feet should tread 

And ye to me were always kind. 
Yet often would sad thoughts return 

Of the bonny bairns we 'd left behind. 



48 WxiYSIDE MUSINGS 

And if in sorrow I returned, 

My friends would sairly glower on me, 
The grave must be m^^ resting then ! 

Ah, na ! I eanna gang wi ye. 



"FAIR JENNIE" 

LOVE to stand upon the beach 

Where tides do ebb and flow; 
I love to watch the drifting sails 

"While passing to and fro. 
I love to see the dashing waves, 

Their lace-like crest to trace, 
But dearer to me than sail, or sea, 

Is the sight of Jennie's face. 

I love when Winter days are passed 

And comes the budding Spring, 
The feathered warblers come at last. 

Their sweetest notes to sing 
So charming to their little mates. 

Which bids my heart rejoice; 
Yet there can be no charm for me 

Like that of Jennie's voice. 

I love to feel in gentle June's 
Fair evening, mild and meek. 

The breath of many a flower's perfume 
Come wafted on my cheek. 



"JINNY JIMPS" 49 

Charged with the sweetest nectar 

The honey maker sips; 
But sweeter far than evening air 

Is the touch of Jennie's lips, 

I have been in halls of splendor, 

Where mirth and pleasure meet, 
I have lain in bowers of fariest flowers 

I've drank my fill complete 
Of all the joys this world affords 

Or ever can bestow, 
I'd rather be by Jennie's side 

Than anywhere I know. 



"JINNY JIMPS" 

AND often to my vision still, 
Clad in her sweetest dress of prints, 
And walking down to the woolen mill 
Her daily round ten hours to fill 
By hard-earned means to pay each bill, 
I seem to see poor Jinny Jimps. 

All that you are or hope to be 
Until of death you have a glimpse, 

In trials or prosperity 

So steadfast has she stood by thee 

When others fail, so firm was she 
You owe to Jinny Jimps. 



50 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Ofttimes I see her seated there, 

Mid cloth, and noise, and thread, and lints. 
With cheek more pale and face less fair. 
Which tells of vital wear and tear. 
For Heaven's sake take better care 

Or lose poor Jinny Jimps. 

Though trouble oft beset your path 
Where duty calls, pray never wince; 

Woe flies from mirth like driven chaff, 

Be careful of your better-half. 

But live in love, and sing, and laugh. 
With your forgiving Jinny Jimps. 



"WHITE APRONED SUSIE" 

THE Court's adjourned, the Judge has 
arisen, 
A solemn stillness fills the place 
Where many a verdict and sentence given, 

Has printed woe on many a face. 
Many there be have gone to ruin. 
In consequence of evil doing. 

How many before this Bar have come, 

Y/ith hope and expectation high, 
Have watched till all was said and done. 

Then saw their cherished object die. 
And left them naught but grief and pain 
Where certain pleasure should remain. 



"WHITE APRONED SUSIE" 51 

And why should I still lingering be? 

No court's decree has given me woe; 
A wife and home awaits for me, 

Then why should I be loth to go ? 
Alas, it is no great surprise, 
'Tis but a glance of Susie's eyes. 

My thoughts I have not told at large 

And tried to act a manly part 
But stronger than the Judge 's charge. 

Is Susie's image on my heart. 
And when I chance to meet her eye 
My warm heart's blood just leaps for joy. 

I had supposed Love's foolish rage, 
Long, long were dead, or ceased to be. 

In one whose circumstance and age, 
Proclaimed impossibility. 

And is it wrong to love the flowers 

We must not pluck or call them ours ? 

Now reason bids me leave the place, 
Where fain I would be lingering yet, 

would I could behold that face. 
Once more, I must so soon forget. 

Though home is not what it was to me, 

Yet still a faithful man I'll be. 

We oft deceive ourselves, I Icnow, 
And think another heart more warm 



52 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Than that we won so long ago, 

Whose patient hands much toil have borne 
And oft predict a model wife, 
Who leads some man a wretched life. 

And now sweet Susie, fare thee well. 
Perhaps we ne'er shall meet again. 

May peace and pleasure with thee dwell 
Nor sorrows tear thy lashes stain. 

And may never man as years go by 

Have worse design on you than I. 



"OH! WHAT WILL OUR LAST PARTING 
BE" 

OH ! what will our last parting be ? 
So sighed the lovers as they cooed. 
While some gallant swain, his sweet- 
heart wooed, 
With feelings of intensity. 
Oh ! what will our last parting be ? 

Oh ! what will our last parting be ? 
So said the husband to the wife. 
While journeying on in peaceful life, 

How little of the future see, 

Oh ! what will our last parting be ? 

Oh ! what will our last parting be ? 
It may be months, it may be years, 
It may be fraught with grief and tears, 



"ADOLPH'S ADIEU TO ROSA" 53 

It may be you, it may be me, 

Oh ! what will our last parting be ? 

Oh! what will our last parting be? 

So has said many a friend to friend ; 

What meeting here, but here must end, 
"When time is changed for eternity, 
That 's when, will our last parting be. 



"ADOLPH'S ADIEU TO ROSA" 

LOW sinks the silent, setting sun. 
That gilds the hills with a golden hue, 
His last fond rays on earth are flimg 
As if to say ''my favored one," 
Then disappears with dewey tears 
He weeps to bid the world adieu. 

The full round moon her light displayed 
From the eastern hill, o'er lake and dell 

When, to a silent, sylvan shade 

A pair on whom restraint was laid 

Came wandering there, e'er sundered were 
Their vows to plight and say farewell. 

"Can yon pale moon, with face so pure 
Look from her distant place of rest 

And know the hopes how insecure 

The secret pain that hearts endure 

Would she not then her pity lend 
Or feel for our distress?" 



54 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

' ' And when our ways are severed wide 
Those rays will fall on you and me 

Though waters deep between us glide 

In thy true heart I will confide, 

And nothing ever, but thyself can sever, 
My faith and trust in thee." 

"But, Rosa, when I'm far from here, 
And many miles we are apart, 

Then think of me as ever near, 

Near to thee, because thou art dear, 

Dear to me, thou wilt ever be 
And dwell within my heart." 

"But should temptation thee beset. 

With firmness walk in Virtue's ways, 
By one wrong act, the cheeks are wet 
Death often comes, by one false step 
Some of the fairest birds this world afiFords 
Are birds of prey." 

"Soon will these earthly scenes be o'er. 

Does there exist a fairer clime. 
Where true hearts meet to part no more 
And know each, as Imown before, 
Where a social life begets no strife 

And love is not a crime?" 

"Ah! Rosa dear, forbear to mourn, 

A heart like thine, no grief should know. 



"IDLE MUSINGS" 55 

The tide of fate we cannot turn ; 
IMistakes are easier made than borne; 
Farewell, adieu, I will think of you, 
Where e'er I go." 



"IDLE MUSINGS" 

ON SEEING A NEW FACE IN A LAWYER 's OFFICE 

DEAR Mrs. , where are you from, 
And what was your name before mar- 
riage ? 
I am charmed with your ways, and sweet win- 
ning face, 
Your demeanor, and beautiful carriage. 

There once was a time, when I was in prime, 

I struck out to be an attorney, 
But becoming disgusted with things I had 
trusted 

Deserted before half on my journey. 

But had I have known, what since has been 
shown, 

I really had been more persistent, 
I would allied my cause with justice and laws 

"With you for my office assistant. 

As clients came in, of course we should win 
For victory would cro^vn our endeavor. 



56 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Our wealth be increased by victims we 'd fleeced ; 
We would have been very happy together. 

If stern reverse should make matters worse, 

And I was to poverty nearing, 
I should never fret with vain, foolish regret, 

Blest with company ever endearing. 

'Tis exceedingly strange that all things must 
change, 

No power whatever can stop it. 
Time, changes will bring to most everything, 

But no change I find in my pocket. 

And here it would seem I must finish my theme. 
The facts in the matters supplying, 

I have greatest respect for all of thy sex. 
But for none would I ever be sighing. 



THANKS FOR A BOOK FROM A FUTURE 
SON-IN-LAW 

ACCEPT my thanks, respected friend. 
For that little book of poems, 
Thou didst to me so kindly send, 
My love for poesy knowing. 
In some book, somewhere, sometime, we learn 
Bread cast on waters without concern 
After many days, it will return 
A reward to giver's showing. 



''MY FAIR LOUISA" 57 

Now well 'tis known, should we all live 

And at no distant time 
That I to you a gift must give 

'Twill far outrival thine. 
To have and to hold while life endures, 
Whether weal or woe the same secures 
And may you be content with yours 

As I 'm content with mine. 



"MY FAIR LOUISA" 

FIG for the comfort of fond recollection. 
Of faces and forms we never more see, 
When passing before us in the grand ret- 
rospection, 
How vividly comes Louisa to me. 



A 



Her blue loving eyes, words fail to express; 
Her white throat and chin with snow might 
compare, 
With the sweetest red lips that man's ever 
pressed, 
Her cheeks like blush roses, and light golden 
hair. 

Her form so exquisite and full rounded waist 
A Venus might covet, if once she should see ; 

I fondly admired, and kindly caressed 
For dear as the light was Louisa to me. 



58 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

How vivid the scene to memory depicted, 

The sweet foolish pleasure forgotten should be 

"When from the mirror our forms were reflected, 
Embracing each other, Louisa and me. 

But there came a time when there came another, 
When I was rejected and favored was he, 

Who stole the rose, the false-hearted lover, 
And thereby was severed Louisa and me. 

But long years have passed, since we last parted, 

And I perhaps forgotten may be. 
But deep in my heart, tho' she was false-hearted, 

Remains a kind wish for Louisa from me. 



"A JOURNEY FROM HOME" 

A letter written after leaving home on busi- 
ness, which required an absence of several 
months. October 1st, 1903. 

DEAR ones at home, I thought it best, 
To drop a line at this early date. 
Thereby to set your minds at rest 
If you felt a fear for my journey's fate. 
Though a cheerful guise I did display, 
I was very loth to come away. 

There is a fact you may depend, 
A most imcumraon circumstance, 



"A JOURNEY FROM HOME" 59 

"When a man is so taken with a friend, 
As to go and leave his Sunday pants, 
Though seeming a little out of place, 
It might perhaps have been the case. 

Now for your pardon I must plead, 

For recollect I am but human, 
And the greatest thing I seem to need 

Is the company of some pleasant woman. 
Not all of such as smirk and smile, 
But those whose acts are free from guile. 

But should a siren wave her wand. 

Or sing in sweet angelic strain. 
Like old Ulysses I would stand, 

And like Artemus Ward exclaim, 
"Ever to thee I'll constant be, O, Betsy Jane," 
My sentiment the same would be, except the 
name. 

Dear little wife, it seems of late, 

I have much reason to rejoice. 
Were I again to choose a mate, 

I could not improve upon my choice ; 
You are but one, yet I confess 
I 'd not give that one for all the rest. 

I was going to tell of my journey here, 
It's of small moment, let the sequel prove. 
And when in rhyme, it would appear 

My amorous muse goes chasing love. 
She sometimes sings of other things. 
But delights in flights on Cupid's wings. 



60 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

I passed the old homestead, my dear, 
"Where you and I for many a day, 

Month after month, year after year, 
Toiled on, that mortgage debt to pay. 

Long, long, I looked while passing by. 

Until a moisture filled my eye. 

I seemed to see you just as then. 

Out on the old piazza stand ; 
The chicken brood, the mother hen, 

The barrel, the coop, the pails, the pans, 
The light-haired baby, and my little son, 
Watching to see their papa come. 

But things are greatly changed, my dear. 

Like a tale that's told, or a song that's sung, 

Familiar faces disappear 

And we, alas, no more are young. 

The sight is dimmed, the hair grows gray 

And the bird we loved has flown away. 

And still we 're drifting year by year. 
We are drawing near that hidden stream, 

AVhere all mistakes lie buried there. 
Nor one regrets what might have been. 

It matters not when the summons come. 

If we can but go with all duty done. 



61 

THAT SWEET SYRINGA 

CAN I forget, can I forget 
That beautiful night when first we met, 
When side by side we fondly sat 
Till time to death shall bring me? 
Th' approving stars looked smiling down. 
And all seemed wrapped in sleep profound, 
Our softest seats, the grateful ground 
Beneath that sweet Syringa. 

The old good man was fast asleep. 
From cozy coops the chickens peeped, 
While the marm did a vigil keep 

From her bed room near the entry. 
When two true hearts with love grown bold 
In spite of dampness, dew, or cold, 
Their joys and sorrows there they told 

Beneath that sweet Syringa. 

In whispered words so soft and clear 

Like music met my eager ear, 

And clasp of hands made doubly dear 

In ecstacy to wing me. 
Each flowret dropped a petal fair. 
Which alighted on her golden hair. 
That seemed to give a welcome there 

Beneath that sweet Syringa. 

There's a charm in that Syringa tree 
No other can ever have for me 



62 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

However long this life may be 
And sorrows oft may wring me. 

I passed that lovely bush of late 

And from its bough did a blossom take; 

] kissed it for sweet memory's sake 
When 'neath that sweet Syringa. 

Could I but choose the spot and time, 

AVhen I this mortal life resign, 

And look my last on friends of mine, 

What comfort would it bring me ! 
On that dear breast my head could lie. 
And feel her soothing presence nigh, 
I'd close my eyes and say good-bye 

Beneath that sweet Syringa. 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 

YE victims of Cupid come give your atten- 
tion, 
A bit of true history to you I '11 disclose ; 
It is no mystic fable of the poet's invention. 
But of two loyal lovers called Reuben and 
Rose; 
We laiow there's a maxim of long years' dura- 
tion 
Tho' its use far as comfort I cannot approve, 
Which says there's a clause in the plan of crea- 
tion 
Declaring that ' ' true love never runs smooth. ' ' 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 63 

Another old adage which seems true as ever, 

Says "Deepest of waters always runs still." 
The love of our Reuben was the deep rolling 
river, 
And that of his Rose was the rattling rill ; 
Now Reuben was honest, and kind and warm- 
hearted, 
JVIore fixed in his purpose than most of such 
men, 
Had met many sweethearts, from many had 
parted. 
But none was so dear as his Rose of The Glen. 



A man of good morals, although he was human, 

A once given promise, he would not recall, 
With trust in his Maker, and also in "woman. 
Yet those that trust strongest are surest to 
fall; 
Nearly five years they were lovers together. 
In the strongest of language that flows from 
the heart, 
So often had promised to be true to each other, 
Till the cold hand of Death should cause them 
to part. 

And many, and often, sweet letters she sent him. 
Of deepest affection and plighting her faith. 

Imploring the aid of high Heaven to bless him. 
And signed "Ever lovingly, Your's until 
Death." 



64 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

How pleasantly flitted each dew dropping even- 
ing, 
The footfall of Reuben how quickly she knew, 
With a kiss at the window, their pent love reliev- 
ing, 
And blessing each other, for each one was true. 

Yet there are times in the lives of but few men, 
In the best of endeavor there will something 
oppose, 
And gladly would Eose have married her 
Reuben, 
As gladly would Reuben have wed with his 
Rose; 
Some gave as a reason why they did not marry. 

That she in the past to another 'd been wed, 
By the pure law of prudence, which caused them 
to tarry, 
Tho ' long years had passed since she heard he 
was dead. 

There's a mound in the meadow, way down in 
the corner. 
Where the shade of a tree breaks the rays of 
the sun, 
There under the greensward, where nothing can 
harm her, 
In ashes resposes a dear little one ; 
We all have possessions in memory's corner, 
Some place more endearing than others can 
be; 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 65 

It may be a spot where friends part from each 
other, 
An oath, or a promise, or a grave 'neath a 
tree. 

"Well, I am digressing ; my subject renewing, 

It shall all be unravelled in time I propose ; 
Where did we leave Reuben? the theme still 
pursuing. 
He stands by the window a kissing his Rose ; 
Perhaps at this time were a favorable moment 

A word for sweet Rose were not out of place, 
Her form and her ways needed no critic's com- 
ment. 
While her beauty and excellence shone in her 
face. 

Her eyes were as bright as the stars of the morn- 
ing 
And soft as the fawns' that feed by the rill, 
Her skin was as pure as the white lily dawning. 
Her breath was as sweet as the breeze from 
the hill. 
Her hair. Oh! ye gods, how can I express it? 

Reflecting the tints of the simsetting ray. 
More precious than riches to the one who pos- 
sessed it, 
A charm, an attraction, from which none could 
stray. 
A nose quite exquisite, though modest and 
shapely, 
A throat, alabaster, of color the same, 



66 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Her sweet ruby lips that smiled so completely 

No lips ever pressed them but wished to again. 
If you think that her beauty is an overdrawn 
picture, 
When I tell you the secret it need not surprise, 
We all fall in error by fancy's conjecture 
But remember, I see her as with Reuben's 
eyes. 

And usually some little token he'd bring her 
Which afforded her pleasure whenever he 
came; 
He sang of her praises, though not a great singer. 
With joy, swelled his heart at the sound of 
her name. 

When some sweet appointed night arrived, 
What deep devotion his senses stir 

Along some shaded way to drive, 

And sing the song he had made for her. 

"Somebody's coming when the dew-drops fall" 
Somebody's coming whom I will not call, 
Somebody's coming I love best of all 
Someone I 'm longing to see. 

When the twilight shadows are exchanged for 

night, 
And the pretty stars give forth their soft pure 

light, 
lionely, I'm watching by my window, quite 
With a welcome for my darling from me. 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 67 

Oh! the greeting of that fond meeting 

"What happiness can compare, 
Oh ! the bliss of that rapturous kiss 

A kiss at the window there. 



Ah! had we the power to now draw the curtain 
And leave our fond lovers to their season of 
bliss, 
There never had been one ruined life certain 

And never had been told a story like this ; 
Fairest of prospects may fade in a moment 
Brightest of mornings may sunset in gloom. 
The flowers of to-day, so fair, sweet, and fra- 
grant, 
At night may be withered, and wasted their 
bloom. 



And thus through our life, whatever our object. 

For innocent pleasure or comfort it bring, 
Like children pursuing some gold-tinted insect 
When caught are repaid by a sharp painful 
sting ; 
One night on his pillow poor Reuben lay sleep- 
ing, 
A deep voice of warning disturbed his repose ; 
It was no voice of man, but a spirit seemed 
speaking, 
Saying, "Reuben, Oh! Reuben, you're be- 
trayed by your Rose. ' ' 



68 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

He straightway awoke like one that's been sleep- 
ing 
Yet still could but list for a step in the hall, 
But nothing he heard but his pulse's strong 
beating, 
And the clock on the mantle shelf close to the 
wall. 
"Ah ! why was this seeming, and why this about 
her? 
And why with such fancies my memory fill 1 
Her virtue, and goodness, forbid me to doubt 
her; 
Begone, vain delusion, I sure never will." 

Now scoff, unbelievers, and cry superstition, 
And say that with Reuben 'twas an over- 
charged brain, 
But who's not dreamed dreams, and seen appa- 
ritions 
For warnings of sorrow they cannot explain? 
Yet while he lay musing and trying to forget it 
A brightness appeared as of Heaven's own 
light. 
He saw not the source nor the hand that had 
set it 
While a large brazen tablet appeared to his 
sight. 

And there he saw written in words plain as 
speaking. 
His poor heart ceased beating, his blood almost 
froze. 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 69 

The very same language of the voice still re- 
peating 
"Reuben, Oh! Reuben, you're betrayed by 
your Rose." 
Then came an impression from some unknoMTi 
power, 
"If you would be certain before you believe, 
Go see for yourself, I will give you the hour, 
To prove the deceiver may yet be deceived. ' ' 



Did he go? yes, he went by the spirit's directing, 

I call it a spirit, for I Imow not its name ; 
Ah! better that Reuben had died unsuspecting 

Or finished his days in a place for insane. 
There are times in our lives if memory were 
blotted 

Reflection could cease, or reason could die, 
Then happy our days, the short time allotted, 

Now the dead and the living together must lie. 



What he saw let nothing on earth e'er reveal it 
Till shown in the morn of the great judgment 
light; 
Let Heaven and Earth conspire to conceal it 
Till lost in the depths of Eternity's night. 
He straightway returned in this doleful condi- 
tion, 
Tho' pale was his visage, no tear dimmed his 
eye. 



70 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

But sent her a letter with no other inscription, 
With those three simple words, "Rose, Good- 
bye." 



Morn or noon or night were nothing, 

Cold or hunger gave no pain, 
With a weary, wakeful, woeful, wanting. 

And then he sang in a different strain. 

' ' Oh ! ye source of sorrow springing 
Dearest charms to bosoms bringing, 
Pond affections closely clinging 

Till torn apart, 
Then all that 's dear goes out by wringing 

A broken heart." 

"I had a sweetheart it appears 
Who shared my love alone for years. 
My life, my light, and all that cheers 

For many a day 
She filled my bleeding heart with tears. 

She went astray." 

* ' It has surpassed all human art 

To describe the tearing of heart from heart, 

And who ever feels its dreadful smart 

God pity those. 
The time has come when we must part, 

Good-bye my Rose. ' ' 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 71 

*'How labored came my heated breath, 
A gloomy darkness filled the earth 
In womankind I had lost ray faith, 

Yes, every one; 
I hated life and longed for death. 

It would not come." 



"But I will not dwell on those doleful things, 
A sense of sorrow to my mind it brings 

Like the icy hand on the tender strings 
When death lays hold, 

And purple drops from the heart it wrings 
With fingers cold. ' ' 



At length came a letter to Reuben directed, 

Saying, "Reuben, dear Reuben, of thee I im- 
plore 
I am sick on my bed, I am almost distracted, 

Pray grant me one favor, if none ever more ; 
My case is so bad I have called in the Doctor 

A shock to my nerve is the reason he gives, 
Come once more to see me on a business matter 

And God he will bless you as long as you 
live." 

Then Reuben he read it with eyes almost burst- 
ing 
His heart beat so loud as to resound in his 
ears. 



72 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Down deep in his heart, love and reason were 
striving 
And slow down his cheeks rolled two crystal 
like tears. 
So Keuben he went with her many sweet letters 
And thought to exchange and have all things 
fair, 
Yet when he arrived he found she was better 
But grew violently worse when she knew he 
was there. 



"Oh! Reuben," she cried, "Oh! how I have 
missed you 
And what was the cause of that letter 'Good- 
bye' ? 
Come here to me darling, I so long to kiss you 
Without your affection I surely must die. ' ' 
"Ah! Rose, then he answered, "to me you're un- 
faithful 
You have broken your promise in a dangerous 
way, 
I own that I love you, and have ever been truth- 
ful 
But God and my honor forbid me to stay." 



She screamed and she wept like poor Dona 
Julia, 
At the words of Don Alphonso, her face all 
aflame 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 73 

Saying, "I've not wronged you Reuben, now 
honest and truly," 
Calling God and high Heaven to witness the 
same; 
Poor Reuben he gazed \vith conflicting emotion 

For what he had seen he very well knew, 
"While there lay his Rose with seeming devotion 
And swearing by Heaven that she had beeen 
true. 



* ' Rose, ' ' then he said, ' ' to you I Ve been faithful 

No man ever worshiped, as I've worshiped 
you; 
How could 3'ou find heart to have been so un- 
grateful 

To repaid my devotion by an act so untrue ? 
Never have ever you asked my assistance 

But if in my power I as willingly gave; 
You were my life, my soul, my existence, 

And I in return was your poor willing slave." 

"You are harsh to me Reuben, and wrongly ac- 
cuse me, 
Not even the hand of another I 've pressed 
No one has come near me, you shamefully abuse 
me 
Sometime you'll regret it in sorrow I guess." 
Her sickness subsided, she arose from her pillow. 
And then with great vim, raised her hand 
towards the skies; 



74 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

"God knows that I'm innocent, whatever may 
follow, 
Someone's filled your head with a torrent of 
lies." 

"Not so," then he answered, "I know more 
than you think for 
I know your proceedings, on that you depend 
If it wan't for one sorrow my soul still must 
mourn for 
You might go to perdition, and here it would 
end." 
Then said she, ' ' Dear Reuben, I will now tell you 
certain 
If you have been watching when some other 
came 
Some things may have happened there's really 
no hurt in 
I being mistaken could not be to blame. ' ' 

' ' And this was the way, but no more can he do it 
I heard a low tapping and thought it was you. 
I opened the door and before that I knew it 
Straight in he came walking, then what could 
I do? 
I thought of you darling all the while he was 
with me 
And grieved for your feelings should you ever 
know this ; 
1 felt like one dazed or that reason had left me, 
And never but once did I give him a kiss." 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 75 

Then after much talk and many wrong stories, 
She confessed her fault fully, that's better un- 
told, 
And Reuben he pitied from a pure sense of 
sorrow 
While tears from her sad swollen eyes down- 
ward rolled. 
Saying, "Reuben, Oh! Reuben, for God's sake 
don 't leave me, 
I will take my own life if you won't forgive. 
No more will I wrong you, no more I'll deceive 
thee 
If you can't forgive me, I don't want to live." 

Then said he to Rose, ' ' If you will go with me 

To a little green grave, just over the hill, 
There answer the questions of which I do wish 
thee, 
As long as you're faithful, God knows that I 
will." 
Then out in the darlmess with sad solemn still- 
ness 
They wended their way over uneven ground, 
In the damp of the dews and the autumn night's 
chillness 
On their knees they sought out that dear little 
mound. 

"Oh! Rose," he exclaimed in a voice by grief, 
broken, 
"While tears dowTi his pale face feU fast as the 
dew. 



76 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

"I've led you to this place as a sign and a token 
Before God and Heaven your oath to renew. ' ' 

' ' Dear Reuben, ' ' she said, ' ' I think it is awful 
A promise to make by the grave of the dead, 

But to you I do promise to be true and loyal, 
Till the clods of the valley are over my head. ' ' 

And there by that mound in the deep hush of 
darkness 
He called upon spirits departed before. 
To witness the scene and take note of her promise 
Through every temptation to be true evermore. 
''Oh! Reuben, my darling, the truth I'm con- 
fessing 
In ways of deceit I was always inclined; 
From the sad sorry past I have learned a good 
lesson, 
Which nothing but Death can efface from my 
mind." 

"My Reuben, my dearest, will you but believe 
me? 

I have no fault to find but to me you've been 
true; 
No more will I wander, no more will deceive thee 

This heart in my bosom beats only for you." 
With kisses, and tears, and many embraces, 

They silently quitted the abode of the dead; 
It were easier far wdth the stars to change places, 

Than to turn one false heart from a life they 

have led. 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 77 

Concerning this story of which we've been spin- 
ning, 
There's a thousand and one cases a spinner 
could spin, 
"Which plainly sets forth the caprice of women 

And also bespeaks the forbearance of men. 
If God fashioned women, which no one must 
doubt it 
Whether he did the moulding or had it in 
charge. 
Had he given more reason, while he was about it, 
'Twould have been infinitely better for the 
public at large. 

Now who'd ever think after all this transaction 
Her oath by that grave, and where Reuben 
forgave, 
That ever again she would have sought satisfac- 
tion 
In error and falsehood so long as she lived? 
"We know it is said of our Heavenly Father, 
"His ways are not man's," and are "past 
finding out" 
Now many a woman is their Father's own 
daughter 
And resemble their parent in this wise no 
doubt. 



A third of a year had scarce turned an angle 
"When again he saw reason to be on his guard, 



78 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

When lie mentioned the subject she flew in a 
wrangle 
And said his opinion was really too hard. 
"I am true to you Reuben, you've no reason to 
doubt me, 
For no other one I am wishing at all, 
You would have me imprisoned with no one 
about me 
In a room all secure by a four-sided wall." 

' ' Get rid of your nonsense, you know that I love 

you. 

You have been to me Reuben what no other 
can be; 
I love you as truly as God reigns above you 

As when we stood under that Sycamore Tree. 
When you go from me darling, do try to be 
happy, 
For you know that your Rose is as true as the 
Sun; 
Give yourself no more trouble, no other can have 
me, 
But will welcome you, darling, whenever you 
come. ' ' 

But just a few days from the scene last depicted, 
Poor Reuben, he went on one cold Winter 
night 
To the home of his Rose, when least was ex- 
pected ; 
Cold blew the wind, and the Moon hid her 
liffht. 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 79 

There was a light in the parlor, or what you may 
call it, 
Softly he crept through loud creaking snow; 
He peeped through the curtain, Oh, how can I 
tell it? 
Oh ! ye gods of pity, your pity bestow. 



For there sat his Rose all dressed fine and neatly, 
And close by her side lay a hard visaged chap 
Stretched out on the sofa at ease most com- 
pletely, 
With his eyes partly closed, and his hand on 
her lap. 
Now what can we say for the feelings of 
Reuben ? 
Shall we say he was angry, or there went in- 
sane? 
Oh, no, he kept quiet and kept from intruding 
Till his face was discovered through a low 
window pane. 

And these were his thoughts while his long vigil 
keeping, 
No feeling of malice, to his rival, he bore him 
But felt a contempt for a man nearly sleeping 

"With such a display of beauty before him. 
He gazed on her head, her neck, and her 
shoulder, 
Her rich heaving bosom, and well-rounded 
arms; 



80 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

His heart swelled with pride as in thinking it 
over, 
That he as her Reuben, had once shared those 
charms. 

Cold grows the night, and midnight approaches 
And Rose is aware that her Reuben's around; 
Still striving to see her, each crevice he searches 
Till head sick and heart sick he falls to the 
ground. 
Poor Rose now thinking she could no nothing 
better • 
In convincing her Reuben of what she had 
said 
Of her faithfulness, brought forth a box of his 
letters 
And in silence sat down by her table and read. 

Her new acquisition arose from the sofa 

In the midst of the floor had taken a chair, 
Paying no more attention to Rose than as if she 

Had been a stone statue, or had not been there. 
In one room stood a mirror in such a condition 

It showed every motion in the parlor dis- 
played, 
As seen from the window of Reuben's position 

No light from the table his presence betrayed. 

Now Reuben, he wishing his Rose could be cer- 
tain, 
And know for herself, he was there at the 
place, 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 81 

When she came to the window and peeped 
through the curtain, 
Oh! merciful Heavens, there was Reuben's 
cold face. 
She said not a word, but as quick, turned and 
left him 
Nor made the least sign she had seen anyone ; 
He stood like a statue with reason bereft him 
And this is the welcome he met when he come. 

Then when he recovered he looked at the mirror 

His rival had arisen and there stood erect; 
His Rose she ran to him with no look of sorrow 
And with fondest embrace threw her arms 
round his neck. 
The lights were turned down, the windows were 
darkened. 
And nothing was heard but soft steps on the 
floor 
He learned her deceit, for closely he hearkened ; 
* * False Rose, you will see your dear Reuben no 
more." 

I've told you this story almost verbatim 

As I understood it from those that should 
know; 
"Which shows that poor Reuben met a terrible 
fate, in 
Bestowing his affection on an object so low. 
But "Love it is blind" wise ones have repeated 
And never was sentence more true ever spoken, 



82 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

There 's many a true heart destined to be cheated 
And a heart that loves blindly deserves to be 
broken. 



But the world moves along, for time never tar- 
ried, 
And babes will be born, to manhood will grow, 
Fall in love, get rejected, or worse perhaps, mar- 
ried. 
But death is the balm for all sorrow and woe. 
What did you ask about Reuben? There's not 
much more to it, 
But this is the story with its sad, tragic end, 
Could I vouch for its trueness, I gladly would 
do it. 
But on what we hear now days we cannot de- 
pend. 

But here is the tale as told by some hunters ; 

'Twas on one morning in November, I think, 
They started out early, with their guns, and 
their pointers, 
In quest of some foxes, some musk rats, or 
mink. 
They crossed a high bridge and up by a cottage 
Which stands by the site of an old ancient mill 
They passed through a bar- way and thru' a 
small orchard 
At length reached the top of a quaint little 
hill. 



"REUBEN AND ROSE" 83 

There do^\•n in the Glen were the walls of a 
garden, 
Some old buildings, in ruins, and a lane to a 
field 
Where children had played and men had worked 
hard in 
And women had sang to the time of their 
wheel. 
The sun from the East shed its beams most de- 
lightful 
And cool from the mount came the crisp morn- 
ing breeze 
When one of them spake in tones almost frightful 
"Great Heavens! What's there down under 
those trees?" 

They quickly descended and there to their 
horror 
Near a mound nearly covered with snow, frost, 
and hail, 
They looked at each other with feelings of sor- 
row, 
'Twas the form of poor Reuben cold, ghastly, 
and pale. 
In his hand closely clasped, in his bosom re- 
posing, 
Was a letter which moved by his last heaving 
breath 
When opened and read, its author disclosing ; 
Signed, "Your Own Loving Rose, Yours until 
Death." 



84 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

So this was the end of his journeyings here ; 

As they gazed on his pale face, they could hut 
wonder why 
Of all the places his heart most held dear 

By this lonely grave he should lay down to die. 
Did they bury him there? No, not's I recall it, 

He sleeps by a stream on a far distant plain 
And sweet be his slumber with nothing to 
spoil it 

And no one betray his affections again. 

At rest is that heart, where no sound e'er can 
move him, 
He heeds not the sigh of the sad breezes breath 
As it steals through the leaves of the branches 
above him 
And seemingly whispers, "Yours until 
Death." 

''THE NOBLEMAN'S CHOICE" 

(song) 

THE Queen of Fashion, there she stands, 
With simpering smiles, your flattering 
Avords she hears. 
With all the gloss wealth can command, 
A bird in gaudy plumage, she appears, 
You think perchance her loving glance 

Is just for you, and you alone. 
But here you make a grand mistake 
Another shares it soon as you are gone. 



TO MRS. MARY E. BABCOCK 85 

But come with me to a country wild, 

Where the God of Nature, knows no gilded 
art, 
'Tis here you'll see fair Nature's child, 

"With naught of riches, but a guileless heart. 
Her eyes the hue of Heaven's blue 

"With no deceit or pretense there 
Sweet as the flowers, she sports among 

"Whose tints reflect her lips and golden hair. 

"Why was I doomed to such a fate? 

Though with an ample fortune I was blest. 
To love a maiden of low estate 

"Where education never was a guest. 
My friends around will on me frown 

And pass me coldly by I know, 
But a loving heart in a cotton gown 

Is a better prize than riches can bestow. 



TO MRS. MARY E. BABCOCK 

FOR A CHRISTMAS PRESENT 

MANY thanks my dear Mrs. B., 
For the pretty present you sent to me, 
For such a gift received from thee, 
I regard with signal honor. 
For that the thought it doth impart 
Almost a stranger tho' thou art 
Still it would seem within thy heart 
I hold "a cozy corner." 



86 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

AVith home and husband may you rejoice 
Of assorted pleasures have your choice, 
May life flow sweetly like your voice, 

While seasons vary. 
And may you never lack a friend, 
At any time, till time shall end 
And many a happy Christmas spend 

And every one be merry, Mary. 



THE MAID WITH THE GOLDEN HAIR" 

OYv^ brightly beams the morning rays. 
All Nature smiles anew, 
Each bud and leaf speak forth their 
praise 
In crystal drops of dew. 
The grassy mead, the forest wide. 

And fields so fresh and fair. 
But fairer far than all beside 
Is the maid with the golden hair. 




Sweet singing birds and busy bee 

Awake at early morn, 
And gaily flit from flower and tree 

Rejoiced at its return. 
And thus declare their love of light 

As o'er the hills they fly, 
But the dearest light that greets my sight 

Is the love-light of her eye. 



"REGRET" 87 

The blushing rose, sweet modest flower, 

Sleeps sweetly all the night, 
But early wakes at morning hour 

To greet the Prince of light; 
Each tiny petal kissed with dew 

The morning light disclose, 
I would I were a dew drop 

And she that blushing rose. 

How sweetly breathes the morning air 

Adown the woody dell, 
And into many a listening ear. 

Sweet words of comfort tell, 
Inspiring all with radiant hope 

That Life has just begun, 
While I for this one little kiss 

Shall perish with the Sun. 



"REGRET" 

MY Maggie was a charming "gal," 
Few, if any, I trow could beat her 
When we married, I loved her so well 
I felt that I could eat her. 

But eyes of love are a little blind 
Sweetest fruits sometimes turn bad 

Now when recalling some things to mind 
I wished to the Powers I had. 



88 

"BLUE BERRIES BLUE" 

OH, blueberries blue! my heart yearns for 
you, 
Your pies it is true are good licking, 
Yet not for the use that is made of your juice, 
But for an excuse for the picking. 

Oh ! blueberries blue ! what shall I pursue 
When your numbers are few like my virtues? 

I will sing of your praise, in sweetest of lays, 
And ne'er a tale raise that can hurt you. 

Oh ! blueberries blue ! when comes to my view, 
Your sky colored hue 'mong the leaves, 

I shall think of a sweet so full and complete 
Yet not made to eat if you please. 

Oh ! blueberries blue ! when cooking you stew, 
With each breath I drew, brought a smell. 

Let a smile wreath my face as my steps I re- 
trace, 
To a time and a place I won't tell. 

Oh! blueberries blue! in fullness you grew. 
Then fade like the dew of the morn. 

To quite a degree you resemble me, 
For alas we can't see w^hy we're born. 

Oh! blueberries blue! our days are but few. 
How little we know what's before. 

You are eaten straightway or fall to decay. 
While my useful day is soon o'er. 



MY PRETTY WHITE ROSE 89 

Oh! blueberries blue! I'm indebted to you, 

For joys not a few in the past, 
So join me in hand, the fruit, and the man, 

To make life what we can while it lasts. 

Oh! blueberries blue! I must bid you adieu, 
Of my picking I'm through and my pleasure, 

But one little lass, as the time went past, 
"Wished it might last forever. 

God bless us forever, for all good endeavor, 
While voyaging together this weary world 
through. 
But until in death laid, or my memory fade, 
I will think of the maid, and the blueberries 
blue. 



MY PRETTY WHITE ROSE 

BRIGHT comes the morn with its gay 
spangled splendor 
Preceding the march of the Monarch 
of Day. 
Warming and charming, with rich rays to 
render ; 
Till wearied of earth he hastens away. 
The Queen of the Night is even more fickle, 

An hour ever late when the sun seeks repose, 
The clock on the mantel wants changing a little 
And nothing seems true but my pretty White 
Rose. 



90 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

"What is man's word, but a breath briefly 
spoken ? 
What is a vow, oft a lip lisping lie? 
Promises made are easily broken. 

Deceived and deceiver alike fade and die. 
Husbands and wives grow estranged to each 
other, 
Lovers change sweethearts when e 'er they pro- 
pose. 
This heart in my bosom shall cherish none ever, 
But Rosa, my darling, my pretty AVhite Rose. 

Ah, tell me sweet Rose, for the time is fast fly- 
ing, 
Does the distance grow greater between you 
and me? 
Is not there one ray for a soul sorely sighing 
With deepest devotion, dear Rosa, for thee ? 
The Queen of the Night, though tardy and 
fickle. 
Looks calmly and bright on a worm in repose. 
Oh, grant me thy smile, though seemingly little. 
It 's a world unto me, my pretty White Rose. 

TO JULIA 

AH, Julia, This I wish to know 
Before love's lane I longer tread, 
Why is it thus you treat me so. 
So high and haughty hold your head? 
It was but a short time ago. 

You cared for only me, you said. 



"THE LOVERS' QUARREL 91 

But now before my thoughts arise 
Which almost seems to be the ease, 

A smaller man, with darker eyes, 
Whom you prefer to take my place. 

It's a poor chance to win a prize 

With decision rendered before the race. 

If poet Moore, with all the art 

With which the ardent muse inspires, 

Could not win and hold his Julia's heart 
From gross deceit and wrong desires. 

How can I hope wath my poor part 
To furnish fuel for failing fires. 

If such the facts should prove to be, 
I'll make no moan, I'll heave no sigh. 

But God must judge 'twixt you and me, 
Do as you please, I shall not die 

Return the ring I gave to thee, 
I ask no more but say ' ' Good-by. ' ' 

"THE LOVER'S QUARREL" 

MY dearest Eliza, why are you persistent, 
In doubting when lover was never 
more true? 
I'm sure I should never call you inconsistent, 
If constant to me, as I'm faithful to you. 

Fair hopes of to-day will fade with the morrow, 
Love but pretended, is useless and vain, 

Lies and deception, bring nothing but sorrow. 
As many a true heart has witnessed in pain. 



92 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

By all that is good, Eliza, believe me, 

If wrong was my purpose, you'd found long 
ago; 
Through pretense of love, I would tried to de- 
ceive you, 
Though the flower be attractive, the fruit is 
but woe. 

You ask if I love you, but how can you know 
"When falsehood's so easy, and truth is so 
scarce ; 

I know that I'm erring, which fills me with woe, 
Were I to deceive you, 'twould only be worse. 

Not even a suitor in palmiest days. 

When beauty and innocence were stamped on 
thy brow, 
Ever loved you more fondly or gave you more 
praise. 
That a distrusted lover bestows on you now. 

How can you doubt me, and think of another? 

One who will ever be nothing to me, 
As long as the day and night kiss each other. 

So long will my heart be faithful to thee. 

But should tlie time come, I long have expected, 
That I no more warmth, of love's sunshine 
shall feel, 

0, think of me kindly, though I am rejected. 
And pity the woimd death only can heal. 



93 
MY HEART IS THERE 

THE constant sun pursues his way 
And balmy night succeeds the day, 
The moon her silvery light displays, 
O'er valley fair. 
All sleepless on my bed I lay. 
My heart's not there. 



At mom I take my daily round 
Of work, and yet I 've often found 
IMyself stock still, in thoughts profound, 

On Avhat? or where? 
Not digging in the senseless ground ; 

My heart's not there. 



On Sunday, for the sake of speech, 
1 go to hear the preacher preach, 
All due regard I give to each. 

The sermon, hymn, and prayer, 
Yet all seem far beyond my reach ; 

]\Iy heart's not there. 

Strange it may seem, yet often when 

I've listened to the talk of men. 

Of what they've done, or where they've been, 

'Midst scenes so rare ; 
'Tis as the cackling of a hen ; 

My heart's not there. 



94 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

In converse with a lady friend, 
My whole attention I seem to lend; 
For no true man would thus offend, 

For lack of care ; 
Yet gladly hail the coming end ; 

]\Iy heart's not there. 

Oft a one I chance to meet 

While passing through the busy street, 

Whose winning way and eyes bespeak, 

They've time to spare, 
I pass them by with quickening feet ; 

My heart's not there. 

But there is one that greets my sight 

In thoughts by day and dreams by night. 

Whose winning ways and smiles so bright, 

None can compare. 
Though some may say it is not right, 

My heart is there. 

Ye Powers that be, protect, sustain 

In virtue's ways, and keep from blame. 

May blessings fall like summer rain, 

On that head of silken hair. 
Though parted thus we must remain, 

My heart is there. 



95 
FAIR IMOGENS WAITING HER LOVER 

HOW chill the wintry winds do blow ! 
Like an eternal stream of woe, 
Driving the sifting, drifting snow 
To a place of cover ! 
Pligh in the loft close by the grating, 
With anxious heart all palpitating, 
Fair Imogene sat watching, waiting 
Her absent lover. 



"Where has he gone? What keeps him so' 
He should have come long, long ago. 
Has he forgot, or don't he know 

I am so nigh" 
But a little while can I remain ; 
My heart is sad and filled with pain ; 
A creeping chill goes through my frame. 

The hours go by. 



Yon pretty dove beside your mate 
That dwell in love, may never fate 
Cause you to sigh, and watch, and wait, 

As it does me. 
Low sinks the sun close o'er the hill, 
Cold blows the wind, so dread and chill. 
And yet I'm watching, watching still. 

Where can he be? 



96 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

My Bertrand dear, if you only knew 
This heart of mine so firm and true, 
That beats for you and only you, 

You would be here. 
Again I look, again I wonder. 
Why are you staying? In vain I ponder, 
While silent down my cheeks meander 

The silent tear. 



Late grows the hour. Night's coming on. 
My hope, my light will soon be gone. 
In tears and fears I'm left alone 

My homeward course to turn. 
Two hours or more, here have I been 
Now shaking, quaking in heart and limb. 
O, could I hear one word from him 

My blood would warm ! 



Good-by, old tower, now I must leave thee. 
Good-by, sweet dove, may love ne'er grieve thee. 
Good-by, my own, though thou deceive me, 

I'll faithful prove. 
No other love shall I ever know, 
Or slightest joy can this world bestow. 
But wandering, pondering, here below, 

A forsaken dove. 



97 
''MY IDEAL" 

IT is truly said of the human race 
In every land, in every place, 
A desire alike in all we trace 
A condition of the mind, 
"Which holds within the heart's embrace 
A worship of some kind. 

Some worship works their hands have done 
Images of brass, or wood, or stone, 
All senseless idols, deaf and dumb, 

All vain, of course, 
While some have deified the Sun 

And might done worse. 



For light, and warmth is a glorious boon, 
And dead is the heart that has not known 
Or prized the source of favors sho\\Ti 

Till time shall end. 
For me, I'd sooner worship the Moon 

The Lover's friend. 



Some worship reptiles, beasts, and kings, 
Which seems a satisfaction brings. 
While others their affection clings, 

To gods they never Imew, 
Ah! Woman, in place of all these things 

I worship only you. 



98 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Yes, I adore Thee, heart and voice, 
Man's greatest grief, or sweetest joys, 
If this my future life destroys 

This course I take. 
I think my God will forgive my choice. 

'Tis His best make. 



"LOVE'S LANGUAGE" 

(song) 

WHY should my heart so yearn for thee ? 
Like as a flower desires the Sun, 
Thy smile is warmth, and light to me 
My fondest love, my only one. 

In sun, or shade, or all that's dear. 

In everything thy form I see, 
Thy presence pervades the atmosphere 

And fills my longing soul with thee. 

I hear thy voice in cadence sweet 

E 'en in the note of each bird that sings, 

The sighing breeze or where waters leap 
In everything to my sense it brings. 

Then tell me not, I must forget 
The die is cast, let come what will 

Until my sim of life is set 

Remember this, I love you still. 



99 

"THANKS TO A LADY FOR AN INVITA- 
TION TO DINNER" 

1A]\r afraid it's work you've made, 
In asking me to dinner, 
Yet those who heed another's need 
Most surely are the winner. 
Were I to slight, your kind invite, 

I'd merit condemnation 

Then how can I consistently 

Refuse your invitation? 

So when the clock holds up both hands, 

Expressive of great wonder 
Kindly thanking thee, at your board I'll be 

Urged on by fiercest hunger. 



"THE REASON" 

WHAT fault is ours, and what's the 
cause ? 
We're what our Maker made us be, 
Must we submit to man-made laws 

Our right to love, and liberty ? 
Oh! how I hate this galling chain, 
Could I my freedom once obtain 
I would defy its power again 
To the end of all eternity. 



100 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

But stop, and think, says reason 's voice, 

Nor tax j^our soul, like tempests tossed 
Your freedom means but another choice, 

And ties are broken at a fearful cost. 
It is but easy to be sighing 

And new, for old loves to be trying 
'Tis like a bird in freedom flying 

"When once its caught the charm is lost. 



AT THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND 

IT seems to me, if it could be 
That we should meet to part no more 
"With my hand I'd set my spirit free, 
And meet you on that other shore. 
But ah, alas, when life is passed, 

We know not what's beyond the river, 
When cold's the clay, something seems to say 
Good-by, Good-by forever. 



"SORROWING" 

WHAT can I do, what can I say ? 
Life seems o'ercast with a ghastly 
gloom. 
There is nothing here, my heart to cheer, 
O, dismal doom. 

Each morn I rise, my haggard eyes. 
Bespeak what sorrow fills my brain, 



MY JENNIE 101 

Each hour brings grief, with no relief, 
I long for night again. 

When day is fled I seek my bed, 
If balmy sleep shall close my eyes, 

Then in my dreams she with me seems, 
Then awake to woe, and sighs; 

So in this way from day to day, 

]\Iy sorrow I live o'er and o'er, 
And can it be there is for me, 

No joy forever more? 

Oft in my ear her voice I hear 

In music sweet as a Heavenly chime. 

Recalling the bliss and happiness. 
That once were mine. 

But I must now with submission bow, 
In earth's embrace she is resting fast, 

But I mourn her still as no other will 
As long as life shall last. 



"M 



MY JENNIE 

if Jemiie is a bonnie lass, 

With eyes as bright as morning. 
And soft brown hair a tangled 



mass. 
Her pure white brow adorning. 



102 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The following poem was written as a reply to 
the verse above, which is a part of a poem Avhich 
appeared in The Vermont Tribune, from the 
bard of North Springfield : 

INSCRIBED TO THE BxVRD OF NORTH SPRINGFIELD 

MY dear Mr. P. your poem I see 
And prized it, as I have the many, 
As true as you live, by description you 
give 
I fell nearly in love with your Jennie. 

Her face is so fair, her graces so rare, 

Of faults she has scarcely any ; 
But one thing indeed, there seems to be need 

Of a comb and brush for your Jennie. 

Now dear Mr. P. don't tell this from me, 
I'm so modest I never could own it, 

But this I declare, about her "bro^n, tangled 
hair ' ' 
I wish you'd induce her to comb it. 



"THE LOAFER'S STORY" 

WE all were sitting at the station 
Engaged in our usual occupation 
With j)Oor cigars and conversation. 
When the "Two O'clock" hove in sight 
From which before our observation 
A stranger did alight. 



"THE LOAFER'S STORY" 103 

Now it was an occasion mighty rare 
P'or a stranger to be stopping there, 
And so he got an ample share 

Of overlooking. 
As we wondered at what place, or where 

He would be booking. 

His clothes, though plain were neatly made, 
His hair and beard were thickly grayed 
While he his whole attention paid 

To a little child. 
As around the depot steps she played 

He watched and smiled. 

A hundred times I 'd seen here there 
And never thought her overly fair ; 
She give her Mam a heap o' care 

When the trains went by. 
But sumthin ' 'bout her yellow hair 

Just took that stranger's eye. 

No one as yet had asked his name, 

Where he was bound, or from whence he came, 

But kept on smoking all the same 

Whether talked or not. 
While each cigar 'twas very plain 

Grew short and hot. 

The express train was then just due ; 

Tt stopped not there while passing through ; 



104 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Just then her warning whistle blew 

A few rods back. 
A woman's scream, my attention drew 

That kid was on the track. 

I think if I ever was paralyzed 

My feeling then were about that size 

For each of us were so surprised 

We could not stir. 
But my! to see that stranger rise 

And fly for her. 

For a moment each one held his breath 
It was a race for life or death 
In such a case I had no faith 

Though young and strong ; 
He caught and flung her clear and safe 

While he was dragged along. 

Now we weren 't long in getting there 
And such a sight words can't compare 
That genial face was gone entire 

And both his eyes. 
While locks of his grizzled beard and hair 

Lay strewn along the ties. 

We raised his body from the ground 
One broken arm, hung dangling down 
And in the freight house a cot was found 

When we perceived 
Though blood was streaming from every wound 

Yet still he breathed. 



"THE LOAFER'S STORY" 105 

Soon as 'twas known what had been done 
They all come flocking on a run 
Which is the case with eveiy one 

When anything alarms; 
And 'mong the rest that mother come 

With that baby in her arms. 

Tears glistened on many a sun-browned cheek, 
The poor stranger was growing weak: 
He either groaned or tried to speak, 

We couldn't understand; 
Then as by some accustomed freak 

He motioned with his hand. 

And when that woman them motions see 

(She was standing not mor'n four feet from me) 

She turned just as white as she will be 

When she breathes no more; 
Then she cried "Oh! God, 'tis surely he," 

Fell fainting on the floor. 

They carried her out in the open air 
And left her in some women 's care 
W^ho bathed her face and wet her hair 

Till she brought 'round again ; 
But about that stranger, what, or where 

She never spoke his name. 

And so in the public burying ground 
To his last long sleep, we laid him down 



106 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

And nothing 'bout his clothes was found 

To pay his funeral fare, 
But the picture of a babe so plump and round 

And a lock of a woman's hair. 

Now every spring when the day comes 'round 
"When they carry flowers to the burying ground 
On that stranger's grave they've always found 

Fresh flowers, both tame and wild; 
Some say it's that woman what decks that 
mound 

Because he saved her child. 



''THE WANDERER'S BRIDE" 

OR SEQUEL TO (aND WRITTEN FOURTEEN YEARS 

after) "the loafer's story" 

MANY springs have blossomed early 
Many graves have been decked flowery, 
Many hearts have been pained sorely, 
By death and woe, 
Since the Loafer told his story. 
So long ago. 

Thus time glides on from year to year; 
With love, and hate, hope, and fear. 
Like shooting stars mortals appear, 

Then pass away. 
And so a scene is depicted here 

Of our decay. 



"THE WANDERER'S BRIDE" 107 

The church was filled e'en to the door, 
Soft sunlight through the windows pour: 
Two black trimmed rests a casket bore, 

Before the desk, 
Showing, alas, one victim more 

Had gone to rest. 

Sleep on, dead, in rest profound, 
Until the last great trump shall sound! 
There is no sorrow under ground, 

For me or you, 
The friends may rise and pass around, 

The corpse to view. 

It was a spare yet comely face. 
Where lines of sorrow could be traced. 
A sun-lit lock of hair was placed, 

Upon her breast, — 
That once a daughter's head had graced, — 

The last request ! 

Now while the friends their tears shed, 
Around their loved and lovely dead, 
Let us return in thought instead 

A few years back. 
When the station at P. was an open shed 

And the line a single track. 

A lady had with others come 

To the new-made town to find a homo. 



108 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

She was quite reserved with every one, 

Tho ' modest and mild, 
And earned her bread by work well done 

For herself and child. 

She bore a pure and faultless name, 
Respected well by all who came, 
Each day of life passed just the same, 

Until one day, 
A man was killed by a passing train. 

She fainted dead away. 

No one ever asked her why, 

As year by year the time went by. 

"Some mystery must underlie" 

Was what was said. 
And nothing would the facts supply 

Till she was dead. 

The child grew up with queenly grace 
The reigning belle of all the place, 
With sweet address and winning ways, 

Extremely fair. 
With the beauty of the mother's face. 

But golden hair. 

"Death loves a shining mark," they say, 
Earth's fairest flowers he makes his prey 
The dread white plague no power can stay- 

A relentless foe. 
And thus it was she passed away 

From scenes below. 



"THE WANDERER'S BRIDE" 109 

At times she seemed to be getting well, 
And then her mother's heart would swell 
With hope, and many friends would tell 

Of Nina's gain. 
And then there 'd come a coughing spell. 

Relapse, and pain. 

One day, while trying to get some rest, 
With her head upon her mother's breast, 
Being very weak and much distressed, 

Life's spark most fled, 
While the mother's hand her hair caressed. 

She feebly said. 

"Grieve not dear mother, — nor be distressed — 

I feel — I shall — be soon at rest. 

Take from my head — one yellow tress, — 

You've loved — so long — 
And sometime — wear it — on your breast — 

When — I am gone." 

So when the swallows forsook the eaves, 
And autumn winds sighed through the trees, 
Scattering far the falling leaves, 

As night drew nigh, 
A weary soul of earth took leave 

For a home on high. 

No waxen figure can e'er be found 
That with such beauty could abound, 



110 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Like a pure white angel, in sleep profound, 

So calm she lay. 
Too good, she seemed, for the cold, damp ground 

Gray mold and clay. 

No one e 'er asked, or thought betrayed; 
But the mother's wish obeyed. 
And her grave was closely made 

To where that stranger lay. 
And then therein her darling laid, 

From sight away. 

The mother lived but a few short years. 
And never smiled except through tears, 
Whose funeral rites, as it appears. 

We have just attended. 
Was called away to brighter spheres 

A sad life ended ! 

But when the lid had been removed 
From an old red chest in a room above, 
A paper was found which clearly proved 

Her former history, 
Written by herself, in words of love, 

Explaining the whole sad mystery. 

An only daughter, it said, was she; 
And a brother she loved most ardently, 
While he and the father could not agree, 

The case appears. 
So he left home and went to sea. 

Was gone for years. 



"THE WANDERER'S BRIDE" 111 

The mother's heart was almost brokeu. 
No tidings came, her grief to lighten 
^Vnd Jimmy's name was never spoken, 

Except in whisper. 
But still love lingered, a lasting token, 

"With the little sister. 

Meantime a man she since had known. 
His love for her had often shown, 
Asked her hand, to share his home 

Through coming life. 
And so e'er many months had flown 

She was his wife. 

"He was my senior by many a year 

And yet I loved him very dear. 

The sun ne'er shone more bright and clear 

On a happy home. 
Then a wee girl baby did appear, 

Our verj'' own." 

' ' There was a deaf mute in our town 
Who often to our house came down, 
Who could not hear a single sound 

But talked with hand. 
Myself and husband learned the round, 

To understand." 

"About four months old my babe must be, 
When ray sailor brother returned from sea 



112 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

And wished no one to know but me, 

He had come home. 
So to our house most stealthily, 

He came alone. 

I hugged and kissed him o'er and o'er, — 
We heard a footfall at the door! 
Quickly I stepped across the floor 

With the joyous information, 
But never saw my husband more 

Till dying at the station. 

And then his face was so much gone, 

I could not have guessed, but guessing wrong. 

But when that hand I'd l^no^^^l so long. 

Spelled out his name. 
It all turned dark, My thought was gone. 

Was the last that I retained. 

His proud spirit could not forego 

The thought that I should serve him so. 

The green-eyed monster had struck the blow, 

Thinking 'twas some other. 
Thereby he did not wait to know 

It was my brother. 

"They told me he would come back again. 
For weary months I watched in vain 
Till overcome by grief and shame, 

I took my little dear, 
And got aboard a western train. 

And landed here." 



"THE WANDERER'S BRIDE" 113 

The rest of my story you already know. 
How much of joy, how much of woe : 
But God above ordained it so, 

Or it had not been. 
Where'er I am, where'er I go, 

I will trust in Him. 

My earthly course is almost run, 
]\Iy mission here is nearly done. 
The final hour when it shall come, 

No one can tell. 
But lay my body beside the one 

I 've loved so well. 

The funeral o'er, her last request 

Was carried out the very best; 

In a well-made grave she was laid to rest. 

By that stranger's side, 
With that golden tress upon her breast. 

Good-bye to the Wanderer's Bride. 

And now three graves ranged side by side 
AVhere a fitting stone has been supplied, 
They rest in peace, whate'er betide 

Till "The Trumpet's Call." 
Though far from kindred severed wide 

God Imows them all. 



114 

"EXCERPTS" 

FROM "a vision OF THE UNEMPLOYED" 

Some years ago Mr. Prank Stearns presented 
a picture to the author showing a shabby figure 
in mid-air, and it seems that — 



P 



i t "|~^ ILLOWED upon an ancient grip he lay, 
His battered hat had seen a better 
day, 

His worn umbrella, left the choice to you, 
To say if it had once been black or blue." 



He dreamed that a voice bade him — 
"Awake, arise, above this vale of tears" 

"And then it seemed that on his shoulders grew 
Two plumed wings of irridescent hue 
And speeding skyward towards some starry land 
Umbrella, grip and all, slipped from his hand." 

In four other verses, rare music, rest from 
work, plenty of food, and old clothes, were fill- 
ing his dreams when there came a blow and 

"A harsh voice cried, 'Get up and go your 

ways, 
You know the law — ten dollars or ten days.' " 




And speeding skyward towards sonic starry land 



115 

EXPLANATION 

RESPECTED friend, do you recall 
A picture which once you gave to me? 
And asking me to explain withal, 
The meaning whereof the same might be 
Which seemed by the illustration given 
A winged "Hobo" en route for Heaven. 

I thought your wording rather plain 

And almost held me in contempt. 
As though that I was much to blame 

For not knowing what the symbol meant 
And said such things I should understand 
Once having been a newspaper man. 

I received your gift for it's real worth 

Resolving then thenceforth to try 
It's hidden meaning to unearth 

Or keep on looking till I die, 
That I might find the history 
Enshrouded in such deep mystery. 

But years passed on without avail 

Though I'd looked with care through many a 
book. 
Hope, oft revived would as often fail 

Till my weary task I had near forsook 
And oft to myself such words I would lisp : 
"I am chasing a shadow, or a will o' the wisp." 



]16 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

At last success seems to have crowned 
What heretofore was a dreary fate 

Or in other words, "all things come roimd 

To those," with patience, "who will but 
wait" 

I have clearly solved what the thing does mean 

Through the medium of Munsey's Magazine. 

You see this world affords great lights 

The brilliance of uncommon men 
Who in this earth assume great heights 

In oratory, brush, or pen ; 
And then at times, could they not unload 
They would all fill up and thus explode. 

And so one of those of the witty tribe 
Either made the picture or the poem, 

Another the second part supplied; 

Or which was first is not w^orth Imowing, 

While the whole description of the scene 

Is here explained as "A Hobo's Dream." 

So Mr. Simonds of the "saw and knife" 

With true worldly wisdom, thought, and care, 

Has borrowed the picture and scattered it rife. 
Hereby to advertise his ware 

All meaning beside is truly void 

Being only "A Vision of the Unemployed." 

And now my friend with this explanation, 
I trust you will be satisfied; 



THE OLD GREY SPIDER 117 

Things seeming of vast consideration 

Oft the soundest wits have tried, 
Yet when followed back to the fountain stream 
Are found to be but an idle dream. 



THE OLD GREY SPIDER 

MY dear, you ask me for a poem, 
Xor told me what to write about; 
And if I fail for want of knowing 
I pray tlie IMuse to help me out ; 
If this perchance a wealmess shows, you will for- 
give, no doubt. 

Since "Byron's Hours of Idleness," 
And Burns boozed o'er his mug o' ale, 

And Moore relapsed to childishness, 
"Which shows that even great men fail, 

In view of this, hereof, I pray excuse this Spider 
tale. 

Some may doubt, and even say 

To believe such things they never can. 

But yEsop's beasts talked in their day 
Jmd Balaam's ass spoke like a man, 

This tale for truth will equal them. 

For one purports to be a fable. 

The other the Scripture doth supply, 

In describing men we are sometimes able 
By the use of things that creep or fly ; 
Since others do so, why not I ? 



118 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Once on a time, how nice it seems 
To use this quaint old-fashioned style 

For giving dates without the names 
Appears at once not worth the while, 

And deserves a i'rown, instead of a smile. 

There is a story, ancient, old, 
About a vain confiding Fly, 

Who heeded a tale, a Spider told, 
Was then served up for Spider pie 
Which shows that Spiders, like men, can lie. 

Once on a time, again I say, 

An old Grey Spider lived near a mill ; 

No fault was his for being grey. 

Nor growing old, for all things will, 
But a Spider once, he's a Spider still. 

On a little brown shrub he made his bed. 
And that was the place he called his home ; 

Of another Grey Spider he hired his web 
For he never could spin him a web of his own. 
And there in solitude lived alone. 

Sometimes the monotony was broken, 
A Bug, or Bee, by him would stray, 

With outstretched arms and soft words spoken 
He kindly asked them to stop and stay, 
But soon they arose and flew away. 

A big Black Beetle from the clime. 
Where the sweet potato grows. 



THE OLD GREY SPIDER 119 

Sought out his home, to ease his mind, 
And be the balm for all his woes, 
And on his Spider breast repose. 

But she was black and ugly too, 
With a very uninviting phiz, 
With a bottle the like he never knew, 
And a foot, 'twas twice as big as his ; 

And then he said, throwing back his head, 
"I never can wed one so ill bred, 
A mulatto, or negro, which ever she is." 

But there was one of another kind, 
A specie of some Cross-Bee race. 

Even now she haunts the Spider's mind. 
And starts the moisture down his face, 
Like fountains in some desert place. 

The old Grey Spider gazed on her charms. 
And sighed a sigh for the day to come, 

When he could clasp her in his arms, 

While whispering out a soft ''yum, yum," 
For old hawks like chickens young. 

But the Cross-bee loved another Bug, 

And her heart went back to the Connecticut 
River, 

She deemed the old Spider but a worn out plug, 
And sighed for the joys he could not give her. 
Besides the Bug was a better liver. 



120 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

For weeks she wrestled with unrest, 

Her very soul for the Connecticut yearned, 

She left the old Spider in deep distress, 

While her cheeks, and lips, and bosom burned, 
And to her Love-Bug she returned. 

For weeks the old Spider lived alone, 
His fickle fate he still must stand, 

He went and came to his lonely home. 
Determined still to try a hand 
If some Bug or Bee were at his command. 

One Autumn day so the story's told, 
A Butterfly appeared in sight, 

A creature, beautiful to behold. 

In plumage gay, all gold and white. 
Which filled the old Spider with delight. 

If beauty lies in any face, 
The Butterfly can show it. 

Though Spiders are of a selfish race. 
They have sense enough to know it. 
And can put up with anything, unless it be a 
poet. 

But time passed on as it's apt to do. 
Each night gave birth to another day, 

Still the old Spider kept her in view. 
And seldom from her went away. 
As if afraid he'd lose her, if from her he 
should stray. 



THE OLD GREY SPIDER 121 

A Blue Fly, or a Bumble Bee, 

Would call, her for to see, 
AVhich much aroused his spidership. 

From his usual apathy, 

And he called them all "Blamed Rascals" of 
a very low degree. 

But the Bumble Bee, he loved her much. 
And told her many attractive things. 

That she should live (if her choice was such). 
Beneath the shelter of his wings. 
And never feel the torturing touch of bites or 
stings. 

She heeded not what the Bee did say. 
But left the old Spider deep in grief. 

For the Blue Fly carried her away. 
And left her on a lilac leaf. 
And ever more from that fateful day his calls 
were brief. 

The Butterfly soon flew away. 

All wholesome restraint defying. 
And then one cold October day, 

A Dorr-bug found her dying ; 
Now moldering back to Mother Clay, the Butter- 
fly is lying. 

The poor old Spider is without a home, 
The Bumble Bee is of little worth. 



122 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The Blue Fly has more sober grown, 
Increasing years, decreases mirth. 
Which seems the fate of all the earth. 

Had the old Spider chosen a mate 
One near his age and of his race. 

Had the Butterfly foreseen her fate 

And with perfect prudence kept her place 
How different would have been the case. 



THE CROW AND THE LAMB 

ONCE on a time, a flock of sheep 
Were feeding on a distant hill. 
No dogs or wolves caused them to keep 
In constant fear of coming ill. 
The lambs were skipping here and there, 
So brisk and frisky everywhere 
Without a single thought of care 
But to do their own sweet will. 

A crafty crow perched on a tree 

That overlooked the pasture view. 
A lamb alone, he chanced to see 

And well his own advantage knew. 
On feathery pinions he sailed down 
Quite near the lambs own feeding ground, 
At a proper distance walked around 

Until the lamb less fearful grew. 



THE CROW AND THE LAMB 123 

Soon as he saw her fear was gone 
He bowed his head in obeisance low, 

And then began with flattering tongue 
A talk that well becomes a crow. 

He said no lamb where'er he'd been 

In any pasture, hill, or glen. 

He wished so much to be a friend 

Then begged her pardon for saying so. 

"O beautiful lamb! there's none so fine. 

Your snow-white coat gives me surprise ; 
So meek I feel in this garb of mine 

I hardly dare to meet your eyes. 
Those eyes so bright of a hazel hue, 
While my own orbs are a cold steel blue ; 
Had I a chance to exchange with you 

I would willingly give most any price. 

' ' Come walk with me, my dear Miss Lamb, 
There's something I would love to say. 

Though very black they say I am, 
I know I'm just as good as they." 

And while chattering on in this friendly guise, 

In words deceivers can devise, 

He quickly picked out both her eyes 
And then arose and flew away. 

He straightway flew among the trees, 

And cawed a caw, just as before ; 
No pangs of conscience disturbed his ease, 

Though a life was spoiled naught could re- 
store, 



124 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The mother heard her piteous cries, 
And quickly to her lambkin hies, 
Those bleeding sockets and sightless eyes 
Will never look on that mother more. 

There's many a one of a higher grade 
Of whom their earthly record shows 

In a point of morals, virtue, trade, 
Have little to boast above the crows. 

Of whom, or what, we will not say 

It makes no difference either way. 

There's things that happen every day 
Evils that everybody knows. 



WAITING IN THE CORRIDOR 

MY dear Mrs. F — do you recall 
A little chat you had with me ? 
When the time seemed long to the wait- 
ing throng 
As lingering there impatiently, 
And you proposed I make a poem. 

Waiting in the corridor, it's name should be. 

It calls to mind the ease of a maiden 
Who was blessed (or cursed) with a rhyming 
beau ; 

So at one time she wished a rhyme 
Or at least a verse or so. 

Now with her request the simile rests. 

Our case being vastly different you Imow. 



WAITING IN THE CORRIDOR 125 

Now of course you're interested 

And wish the sequel to be shown ; 
She still persisted and strongly insisted 

Till his forbearance was nearly gone. 
Then, said she'd supply him with words for 
rhyming, 

"Tease, and please, moan, and bone." 

To this the youth quickly responded 
His state of mind was clearly shown 

For what true man throughout the land 
Could slight a lady's wishes known. 

Yet shows he thought by the verses wrought 
'Twere better for man to live alone. 

"Fair maids were made young men to tease. 
Young men were made fair maids to please, 

Ah ! how I should my fate bemoan 

Were she flesh of my flesh and bone of my 
bone." 

And that's the way the youth responded 
But probably not the way it ended. 

I 'm sure your whh would be ray pleasure 
With your request would fain comply 

But the modest muse may still refuse 
To lend her aid to such as I. 

Or still it may be before a lady 
She might appear a little shy. 

She hates the high and haughty heads, 
The arrogant and proud. 



126 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

But sometimes sings of lesser things 

In praises long and loud. 
Or where tears are shed, her humble head 

In sympathy is bowed. 

Well, waiting in the corridor, 
And wherefore, did we wait? 

When a rich man's will, was pending still 
To receive uncertain fate. 

And lawyer's fees must still increase 
In settling the estate. 

I used to live in a Southern clime, 
Where the buzzard birds abound ; 

In many ways like the human race. 
Those scavengers are found. 

And when you hear them hovering near 
There's a carcass lying round. 

Waiting in the corridor. 

Waiting our turn in time, 
While seated there above the stair, 

Strange thoughts came in my mind. 
Could he that's dead return in stead, 

What conditions would he find? 

There his last will and testament, 

Was treated with a sneer, 
And every eye was cold and dry 

That had looked upon his bier. 
How dear to him, would now have been, 

A sincere mourner's tear. 



WAITING IN THE CORRIDOR 127 

Poor, unfortunate, rich man, 

How sad must be his fate, 
"Who hardly can (when life is done) 

Enter the Heavenly gate. 
And worldly worth, left here on earth 

Breeds lawsuits, war, and hate. 

It's a lamentable fact in this Christian land, 
When one of wealth is of life bereft 

Those near of kin, come flocking in, 
Who resort to intrigue, lies, and theft. 

That through some vein, they may obtain 
The lion's share of all that's left. 

It sure must be a thankless task 

And small the consolation given. 
To labor on till life is done. 

Of many earthly comforts riven. 
Just to obtain, such earthly gain 

And lose at last their hope of Heaven. 

Waiting in earth's corridor, 

But a little time to come, 
When we all must go from scenes below. 

To our eternal home. 
Wliether much or less, we here possess 

We leave it at the tomb. 

Waiting in the corridor, 
Just a little time more, 



128 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Then it will be said, that we are dead, 

Like those that's gone before. 
Then all disputes like petty brutes, 

Forever will be o'er. 

Waiting in the corridor, 

Of Life's short little span, 
All should strive while yet alive 

To help his fellow man. 
Till the Judge of all each one shall call 

To court, in a better land. 

Now please ]\Irs. F — excuse my verses 
By a better head, 'twere better done 

But I've only drifted where the muses listed 
With due regard to everyone. 

If in the smallest measure, it gives you pleasure, 
My cup of joy is overrun. 



THE DANCE AT WARREN'S POND 

COME everyone who take delight, 
To shake the foot and of music fond. 
Give ear while we a tale recite, 
Of the wonderful dance at Warren 's Pond, 
And if not suited with the same 
Remember that we are not to blame. 

Now Warren's Pond is a bunch of water 
Of which most ponds are made, we think. 



DANCE AT WARREN'S POND 129 

Four times as big as, well, no matter 

It holds enough for wash and drink, 
Yet some of the natives it appears 
Have not tasted water for many years. 

The gods who made both sea and land. 
And scattered beauties everywhere, 

Seemed to have an eye on Warren's Pond 
And dealt it out a double share, 

While on the shore vast pines are seen 

Like those of the home of Evangeline. 

And noble men of mighty minds 

Have thought to do a duty grand, 
Have built a villa among the pines 

To entertain their fellowmen, 
And full many a world weary guest 
Have sought and found both peace and rest. 

In nook, and cove, and shady walk, 
Light feet have often tread the vale 

And every tree, had it tongue to talk 
Could tell of many a curious tale, 

And lovers often sought the spot 

J'or a happy hour in talk, and thought. 

In former times, it has been said 

There was plenty of drink about the place, 

But now no ardent can be had 
Unless it be some serious case 

That is, if a person was about to die 

They might obtain a small supply. 



130 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

No better hostlery is to be found, 

Though you search the country through and 
through ; 
The landlord and lady are always around 

To see that their guests are attended to. 
With this description we advance 
Forthwith to tell about the dance. 



'Twas in the Fall, on a certain day 
The proprietors thought it might be done. 

To increase their pile in an honest way 
And pleasure give to all who come. 

So at once sent out full many a bill 

With a polite invite, ''Come all who will.'' 



You know we read in the good Holy Word, 
That blessings will come if we but believe, 

And that beautiful promise so often we've heard 
Which says to us "Ask and ye shall receive." 

But in worldly affairs, we've an imagination. 

It is sometimes subjected to great limitations. 

Once there was a king who gave a great feast 
Or marriage supper for the sake of his son, 

Sent out invitations from the West to the East 
But the crowd were not hungry and so would 
not come. 

And this is an instance of which we believe 

Where a person may ask and yet not receive. 



DANCE AT WARREN'S POND 131 

But the king was determined to conquer the 
wretches 
And have his house filled clean up to the brim, 
So sent out patrol through the hedges and 
ditches, 
And rounded them up, and gathered them in. 
If Landlord B. could have had such a chance 
There would have been a big company out to his 
dance. 



The night was appointed, but soon it was seen 
Scarce a fiddler was to be found. 

They had mostly gone to "Fiddler's Green," 
Plaving taken passage underground; 

It's a little place outside of hades, 

Where fiddlers go who love the ladies. 

The night arrived both dark and drear 
Yet not a guest appeared the while. 

The music was already there 

One fiddler coming some thirty mile. 

Long, long they waited that murky night 

But not a dancer appeared in sight. 

Some said it was a dirty trick 

The cause therefor they could not see ; 

' ' But hope deferred maketh the heart sick ' ' 
And we must submit to the laws that be 

With grace and patience to respond. 

Thus ended the dance at Warren's Pond. 



132 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

At such a turn the music thought 

There was nothing more for them to do 

But to hang on the pot like a greedy-sot 
And to eat before they go. 

And so a bountiful board was spread 
Till every hungry soul was fed. 

No one e'en thought of being mad, 
For such events are often known, 

Yet all the pay the fiddlers had 

Was a supper and the leave of going home. 

The curtain falls, here ends the scene. 

Success to Blackmer and Mrs. Dean. 



AT THE END OF A GUBERNATORIAL 
CONTEST 

WHERE is our Clement to-night, boys. 
Where is our Clement to-night? 
Of whom we expected, if he was elected 
We should have of whiskey a sight. 
Who took the position, that old prohibition, 

Was in a deplorable plight ! 
That the Republican ring, was a contemptible 
thing, 
0, M^here is our Clement to-night? 

O, where is our Clement to-night, boys, 
Where is our Clement to-night? 



END OF GUBERNATORIAL CONTEST 133 

Who with his colored band, appeared on the 
stand 
"With sliirt bosom, beaming and white. 
Who said that McCullough was a two-sided 
fellow. 
And therefore couldn't be right 
And also F. Proctor Avas a quack of a doctor, 
0, where is our Clement to-night? 

0, where is our Clement to-night, boys. 

Where is our Clement to-night? 
Who said the best men were wanting of him, 

And put up a wonderful fight. 
Who didn 't think best to make an arrest 

No matter if a fellow got tight. 
Has wasted our votes and blasted our hopes, 

0, where is our Clement to-night? 

0, Avhere is our Clement to-night, boys, 

Where is our Clement to-night? 
Go ask of the leaves that have fallen from trees. 
By the breath of the cold breeze's blight 
A symbol are they, of all who to-day 

Championed the rum-sellers ' right. 
The saloon, and hotel, still in secret must sell 

For gone is our Clement to-night. 



134 

DIVERSE CIRCUMSTANCES 

WE were the sons of families four, 
And given an education 
Which few there be that could boast 
more, 
With glowing visions just before 
Of wealth and ease and station. 

But there was one, a laborer's son, 

A poor boy by the name of Jack, 
Whom oft we fellows picked upon. 
And of his scanty clothes made fun, 
But he never answered back. 

He worked for the farmers every day, 
Whene'er he found something to do. 

And gave his parents all the pay. 

While all his education lay 

In a common school, but a term or two. 

While many pursuits we tried in vain. 

Our golden dream pursuing. 
As often when a failure came, 
Our parents helped us out again, 

Which nearly wrought their ruin. 

But John he struck a lofty branch 

As keeper of a big hotel, 
And Charles his fortune to advance 
As bank cashier he got a chance 

Wliile Joe set up a gambling hell. 



DIVERSE CIRCUMSTANCES 135 

John formed a taste for wines and beers, 
']\lidst snakes and dragons passed away, 

A shortage in Charles' accounts appears. 

He served a term of seven years, 
And Joe got shot for imfair play. 

Thus cold in death, or feeble health. 

The brilliant Charles, and John, and Joe, 

Met such reward instead of wealth, 

Now I'll return to talk of self. 
And tell my tale, and let them go. 

I waited long for some great chance. 

Much too big to be expected. 
But when I found I must advance. 
My earthly income to enhance, 

I found myself rejected. 

As an insurance agent I did begin. 
Such months of want I then endured ; 

My means were gone, my clothes got thin. 

And bills continually coming in, 
While few would be insured. 

Now being reduced to poverty. 

Disaster met my every look, 
A publishing house heard of me. 
And offered a liberal salary 

To canvass for their book. 

With my outfit, how chagrined I felt. 
At this menial occupation, 



136 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

No friend had I to ask for help, 
Not a dollar in my pocket dwelt, 
But with a copious education. 

I could speak in Latin, French and Greek, 

Fit for any pageant. 
But Homer and Virgil, so to speak. 
Make a scanty meal for a man to eat, 

And he a poor book agent. 

From day to day, I took my way, 

Calling at every door, 
The rich were inclined much fault to find, 
"With either paper, print, or bind. 

My sales were with the poor. 

And they were ever in for trade, 

Though their wants appeared on every hand, 
"With the strongest promise ever made. 
They would declare I should be paid, 

But get it when I can. 

While thus persuing ray wretched round, 
I came in touch with a new country 

At a beautiful farmhouse near the town. 

On being admitted, there I foimd, 
Of all comforts full and plenty. 

I sold a book without delay. 

And now comes the curious fact, 



MAN VERSUS SHEEP 137 

When I asked the name, to receipt for pay- 
It almost took my breath away, 

'Twas the happy home of that poor Jack. 

At a proper time, I thus began, 

To review the altered situation. 
And so concluded there and then 
That pluck and plod is better for men. 

Than a higher education. 

MAN VERSUS SHEEP 

AS I strolled out one summer's morn 
In sober and meditative mood, 
Through verdant fields and rustling corn 
I thought how God is very good. 
Everything is so well supplied, 
That every mouth is satisfied. 

The growing fruit upon the trees, 
The cereal sown throughout the land, 

The gentle herds, the tiny bees, 
All yield and contribute to man. 

While sinful man, be it to his shame, 

Thanks not the Giver for the same. 

I wandered on in that frame of mind, 
Until I came to a mountain, steep ; 

There, by a brooklet, what should I find 
But gracefully grazing, a flock of sheep. 

Now if anything ever takes my eye 

It's a flock of sheep, feeding near by. 



138 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

I sat me down upon a rock, 

And calmly watched the little crowd, 

The form and habits of the flock 
And as I thought I talked aloud, 

A thing I'm quite inclined to do, 

"When there 's no one else to chatter to. 

''Poor things," said I, "as the matter stands, 
Your case to me seems quite forlorn. 

No hands to clasp in other hands, 
Or arms to enfold another's form. 

No hands I say with which to do 

Any kind of work, if you wanted to. 

You are not fitted for the fight, 

You have no weapon of defense, 
You can neither scratch, nor gore, nor bite. 

For stern aggression's recompense. 
So your only chance, that is to say, 
You must be killed, or run away. 

You are down to the ground, can't stand upright 
Your arms are legs, and very small. 

Limited in language, unfit for the fight, 
And as for work, you can do none at all. 

Your's sure must be a wretched fate, 

You have no loves, nor love to make. 

When I was done with my little talk 
A big bell wether from out the flock, 

With head erect and stately walk. 

Approached quite near my sitting rock, 



MAN VERSUS SHEEP 139 

With all the air of a noble man ; 
And, bowing low, he thus began. 

"Conceited sir, I find at last 
What heretofore I did not discover, 

]\Iany might think from what has passed, 
That we are of no account whatever. 

And because we w^ere not made for work, 

That every duty w^e would shirk. 

T had supposed we were of use, 

In all kinds of cloth and stocking wear. 

Beside meat and leather we produce 
In usefulness we do our share. 

The very coat upon your back 

You borrowed from us, it is a fact, 

(A fact amended, let me say) 

You took it without returning pay." 

"But stop," says I, "good Mister Wether, 
Concerning pay, I think you're WTong. 

Do not we care for you altogether, 
And in the winter keep you warm ? 

In view of this, how can you say 

We take without remitting pay ? 

And why need you complaining be 

Or charge us with the situation? 
Are we not known for morality 

And also declared a Christian nation? 
We mean to treat you very fair, 
As we do each one everywhere." 



140 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

"You took us from our native heath, 

(For selfish interest, and brought us here) 

Where juicy herb and succulent leaf 
Was our subsistence all the year, 

To a land of misery, cold and drear 

Where winter reigns full half the year. 

Compelled in odious barns to stay, 

And for subsistence musty hay, 
And in the spring our coats are shorn, 

Turned out in cold, and wet, and storm, 
With no protecting shelter nigh. 
How many a poor sheep chill and die? 
And then who cares? No one to weep 
And the master says, ' 'tis but a sheep.' 

Your boasted goodness is a farce, 
When self and duty come together 

The moral part gets very scarce, 
Or stands but little show whatever. 

How very proud you sure must be. 

To say nothing about your Christianity ! 

Our greatest crime is to leap the fence, 

Which we seldom do save in search of food ; 

But we don't get drunk and make expense, 
A menace to the public good. 

We rob no banks for the paltry pence, 

And never kill the presidents. 

We never run away for fear of shame, 
Of things we know are sure to come. 



HUNTING THE COON 141 

Nor suicide, or go insane, 

Because someone has been undone. 
Whose confidence we did betray. 
In a financial, or some more Avicked way. 

In perfect peace we dwell together 

Our bounden duty, and nothing more. 

We devise no means to kill each other, 
To take the life we can't restore. 

Unless it be some cross old ram 

The only sheep that resembles man." 

Says I, "]Mr. Wether, don't be too hard; 

Your delineation is quite too true. 
I think you have the winning card ; 

I wish we were as good as you." 
Then I returned to my home again, 
A wiser, if not a better man. 



HUNTING THE COON 

HOW strangely doth this world appear. 
As rolling on from year to year; 
So many men, and yet beside, 
Each a different hobby rides. 
Some for office and honor wishing, 
Some for boating, hunting, fishing. 
Some are clowns with capers funny. 
Some sedate, and making money. 



142 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Of all vocations whatsoever, 
Rum and hunting go together ; 
At least the hunter seems to think 
He cannot hunt without his drink. 
Nimrod, that hunter before the Lord, 
If the truth were known, upon my word. 
We are willing to wager a considerable sum, 
He carried his flask as well as his gun, 
And that well filled with old Medford rum. 

Concerning this tale I here relate. 
Whether true or untrue I will not state. 
It's like many stories we hear in youth, 
If we can 't refute, it must pass as truth. 

'Twas in the fall of a certain year, 

The corn was ripening on the ear, 

Low o'er the hill hung the slender moon, 

When three hunters set out to catch a coon. 

And knowing hard must be their task, 

Each armed himself with a well-filled flask, 

And from courage lest they shrink, 

They oft would stop and take a drink. 

One from his pocket pulled his bottle. 

Having then removed the stopple, 

He held it up toward the sky, 

He crooked his neck, and cocked his eye, 

Saying, ' ' Here 's death to the biggest coon 

That e 'er ate corn by the light of the moon. ' ' 

Low in the west the moon was sinking, 
While they sat chatting, smoking, drinking, 



HUNTING THE COON 143 

AVhen to their ear, far o'er the hill, 
Came the voice of their dog, so sharp and shrill. 
"A coon," By George! they all did say, 
And up and started on their way. 

It took some time to reach the place, 
For the ground oft met them in the face 
And trees that grew along the route, — 
Vain, stubborn things, would not turn out. 
When they reached the place, but one of three 
Had sufficient strength to climb the tree. 
The others claimed, as back they fell, 
Their only fault was feeling well. 

Now, says the one, I'll go aloft, 
And see if I can shake him off ; 
Coons are so bad to bite and scratch 
That my young dog Avill be no match. 
So get your clubs and stand around, 
And hit him when he strikes the ground. 

In finding clubs, stumbling about. 
They hit their light, and put it out. 
"When among the boughs they heard a noise 
And then a shout, "He's coming, boys," 
Now each being fast to outdo the other. 
They had advanced too near together. 
Up went two clubs for the final stroke. 
Two clubs came down, two heads were broke, 
While senseless on the ground they lay 
The coon got up and walked away. 



144 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The other then crept softly down. 

There was not a stir, there was not a sound. 

He struck a light, and to his dismay. 

His two companions like dead men lay, 

Then, from a brooklet's plenteous pour, 

He brought them back to life once more. 

When each declared it must have been 

That cussed coon that fell on him. 

On one more thing they did agree 

'Twas the weightiest coon one would ever see. 

The}^ all went home. Thus ends the matter. 

Which will you have, whiskey or water? 



0, FOR SOME DEAR HAND TO MAKE 
MY BED 



H 



OW sad it seems for a man like me, 
Who having worked till day has fled. 
Retiring tired as tired can be 
Yet find no comfort on my bed, 
But tumble and toss till nigh to swoon, 
Pitying the sorrows of old Zip Coon. 

Some people do in these later days 

Which seems to me a bitter cup 
To make a bed in such curious ways. 

Causing one to sleep with the wrong end up 
With feet much higher than the head; 
0, for some dear hand to make my bed. 



LOVE AND FEAR 145 

And so for hours, sleep if I can, 

Two pillows used in place of one, 
Like the evil spirit gone out of man 

He seeketh rest and findeth none. 
The fly suspended from the ceiling 
Is surely blessed with better feeling. 

"What woman with love within her breast 

"Would want a friend so crucified 
To make a torture of a place of rest 

Since that's the way Saint Peter died. 
Things have so changed since Peter's day 
That few would care to go that way. 

But wherefore now should I complain 
And much my restless lot deplore ? 

She that is gone will come again 
And make my bed as made before ; 

Yet to myself, I've often said 

* ' 0, for some dear hand to make my bed. ' ' 

LOVE AND FEAR 

YES, darling, when your letter came 
]\Iy heart did such a rapture feel 
I kissed it o'er and o'er again 
"Where thy dear lips had stuck the seal. 
And then 1 pressed it to my face, 

Then kissed again observing where, 
Being sure to touch the very place 
Because your lips had once been there. 



146 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

I know that brightest lights must fade, 

I know that closest friendships sever, 
I know there's new attachments made, 

I Imow there are hearts bowed down forever. 
If such a lot must be my doom, 

If such a fate must me befall, 
Then when love's sun is at its noon, 

Let me but die, and escape it all. 



A LINE TO A GRANDCHILD 

YOUR grandma asked me for a line, 
To send you in a letter, 
The muse of mine isn't quite in time, 
Nor neither can I get her. 
Still all my kin are dear to me 
All that there is, and what may be ; 
May each succeed to improve the breed 
By each one growing better. 



MY FATHER'S DREAM 

INSCRIBED TO F. J. B.VLLOU, BRISTOL, N. H. 

HOW vividly do I recall, 
A dream that once my father told, 
Unto my mother and us children all 
I being a lad of seven years old. 
So interested he appeared to be, 
That it firmly fixed in my memory. 



MY FATHER'S DREAM 147 

I Imow there's some that scoff at dreams, 
And say 'tis wanderings of the mind. 

And there's so much absurdity, it seems 
To such belief I 'm much inclined : 

But still we find, in the Holy "Word, 

That dreams were held in high regard, 

Jacob, Joseph, and Nebuchadnezzar, 
And many more that I could name, 

Pharaoh, and Daniel, Belteshazzar 
Dreamed of things that surely came. 

And if perchance they were not exact 

The}^ were near enough to prove the fact. 

Then who among us can infer, 

Or say with proof of certainty, 
That those things do not occur 

As warnings of our destiny. 
If in those days there were such powers 
AVhy not the same exist in ours. 

As for the dream my father dreamt, 
It would have passed like those before, 

But seemed to foreshadow some strange event, 
That did transpire in a few years more. 

So deeply were his senses stirred 

That to the same he oft referred. 

He dreamed that near a field he stood, 
"Where as a boy he'd wandered round, 



148 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

"Where the main highway, or traveled road, 

Wound through the hills from to\ATi to town. 
The autumn sun poured forth its rays, 
As if to vie with svimmer days. 

The hills and vales and rippling stream 
Appeared the same as in waking hours. 

The leafy wood, the meadows green, 
The ripening corn, the wayside flowers, 

The pasture shrub, the browning brake 

All looked the same as when awake. 

From the main highway across the stream 
There led a road to an extensive wood, 

Which was only used by lumber teams, 
As along the route no buildings stood ; 

But a tortuous path led down the hill, 

To a place then loiown as Arnold's Mills. 

And while he gazed on forest and field, 

There came a sound from the distant wood. 

The tramp of horses and rumbling wheels 
Came slowly down that mountain road. 

They moved along in solemn plight, 

As one by one they came in sight. 

In the open land they cross the stream, 
And thence ascended to the traveled main. 

On, on they came, and approaching him, 
He saw it was a funeral train. 

No gilded hearse with gaudy sheen, 

But a plain coffin in a common team. 



MY FATHER'S DREAM 149 

They passed him by so very near, 

Each could be heard with perfect ease: 

The rattle of the harness gear, 
The creaking of the whiffletrees; 

And though they passed him very slow, 

Not a face was he doomed to know. 

On down the road they moved along, 

Until at last they disappeared; 
He watching till the last was gone, 

And nothing farther saw or heard. 
Then waking from this solemn scene 
At morning told to us his dream. 

Year by year the seasons rolled. 

"We had our home between the hills : — ■ 
Reed's Hollow, then the place was called, 

And about a mile from Arnold's Mills. 
And there we lived, quite free from care. 
As poor people most always are. 

Meantime my father had bought some land 
That near the top of the mountain lay. 

And thereupon a house began. 

And gave our home in part for pay. 

'Tis well I say a house begun 

For really in fact it was never done. 

Fifty acres of timber strong 

And not a rod of it was clear. 
His health was poor, and I was young, 

I scarce had reached my thirteenth year. 



150 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

I had a brother older than I, 
But as for him we pass him by. 

My father and I did what we could 

"While the summer and autumn days went 
past, 
We built a part, but not very good, 

And finally we moved in at last. 
But now as I recall to mind. 
We had left our comforts all behind. 

The next autumn time, my mother dear 

Again was called to motherhood ; 
A sickly infant did appear. 

Far up amid that lonely wood. 
And being removed from doctors far 
Was nigh impossible to get help there. 

O, there are scenes could we forget. 

Or been unconscious at the time, 
Or even through such times had slept, 

A sight of sorrow had it saved the mind! 
But the Great Designer hath fixed it so. 
That each must bear their share of woe. 

Scarce two weeks had been passed by, 
When she called my father to her bed. 

And told him she was going to die ; 

That death was near and hope had fled, 

Already did she feel the pain 

Of the deadly current through her frame. 



'MY FATHER'S DREAM 151 

Poor father sat, or rather fell 

Into a chair that stood close by. 
Quick came her breath, her cheek grew pale, 

With a strained expression about the eye. 
So rapidly had been its course, 
She could hardly speak for being hoarse. 

And then she had her children called 
And come and stand beside her bed. 

She wished to bid farewell to all: — 
Betty, myself, Flone, and Fred. 

"While father seemed all stupefied, 

And her little babe lay by her side. 

There was a new dish lately bought, 

A water-dipper made of tin. 
Poor mother wished to have it brought 

Beside her bed, with water in. 
Then motioned more than spake, I think, 
That all of us should from it drink. 

Father, Betty, myself and the others, 

Even the babe was given some ; 
She seemed to miss the older brother. 

Who at that time was not at home. 
And had it placed to her dying lips. 
And 'twixt groaning breaths took little sips. 

I thought I knew what was her intent, 

For her faith was strong in the life to come : 



152 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

A symbol of the sacrament, 

A pledge for us of a brighter home. 
I have suffered sorrow's keenest dart, 
But nothing like that to tear my heart. 

Poor father there in his chair sat, 
Like a person dazed or stupefied. 

Not a word did he say as yet, 
Unless to questions he replied. 

And there we stood with sobs and tears, 

While the death angel was drawing near. 

And here I can't describe the scene, 
No word of mine could justify. 

Suffice to say she fell asleep. 

To wake no more with mortal eyes. 

All other sorrows I have known 

Are small compared with that single one. 

Next morning when the sun arose 
I went to look on that face so kind. 

1 found it resting in that repose, 
A rest some day we all must find; 

Though most fifty years have come between, 

My tear drops fall at the remembered scene. 

The funeral day at length arrived 
And many came from near and far. 

O 'er a rugged road they had to drive 
To pay their sad respects to her. 

So many virtues she possessed 

They loved her most who knew her best. 



MY FATHER'S DREAM 153 

And when the last sad rite was said 

Then began that mournful ride 
Adown that rough and sinuous road, 

I, sitting by my father's side. 
Though great his grief, no tear he shed. 
I tried to cheer by words I said. 

The tramp of horses the jolt of wheels, 

The creaking of the whiffletrees, 
Some latent thought seemed to reveal, 

Or waken some past memories. 
Then he cried out, with painful mein, 
Ah ! this is it, my dream ; my dream ! 

From that mountain road to a distant town, 
That funeral cortege took their way. 

And laid her in the cold damp ground, 
"Where her three other children lay; 

Two sisters, and the oldest brother, 

Then we bid farewell to that dearest mother. 

In three months' time her little babe 
For a mother's nursing pined, and died. 

In a tiny coffin was conveyed 

And laid to rest by its mother's side. 

In life her love was very strong 

In death they were not parted long. 

My father in spirit was broken down 
And scarcely smiled from that funeral day. 



154 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

His hair and beard, once a rich dark brown 

In a little time was nearly gray. 
In years but three and forty then 
He looked to be three score and ten. 

Less than two years from the same abode 
There went another funeral train, 

Down that same rough mountain road. 
And laid him beside his lamented Jane. 

Now to father and mother forever good bye, 

0, God have pity on an orphan's cry. 

The curtain falls upon the scene, 
A sad retrospection it has been. 

But useless had I told the dream, 
Without its counterpart thrown in. 

Brighter scenes I could brought to view 

But none, alas, could be more true. 



A WAIL OF WOE 

WHY does this world so think of me' 
They seem to act, or seem to see, 
That I am one of high degree, 
In some exalted station. 
That my every step a guide should be 
For the rising generation. 

And why expect so much of me ? 
That's more than mortal man can be. 



A WAIL OF AVOE 155 

I boast not of Christianity 

Though perhaps 'twere best, 
I take the part assigned to me, 

And leave the rest. 

They dog my footsteps, night and day. 

They set my failings in array. 

For my misdeeds they gravely say, 

They much deplore. 
And yet I do the same as they 

And nothing more. 

I count my conduct only fair. 

There 's none so good they 've any to spare. 

In no street corner do I make my prayer, 

I\Iy righteous banner flying. 
And when folks tell how good they are 

I think they're lying. 

Ye hypocrites, who love so well 

Concerning other's faults to tell. 

Just turn your thoughts at home a spell : 

Perhaps you'll trace 
The time and spot maybe you fell 

Slightly from grace. 

Why be eternally throwing stone ? 
Perfection you will find in none. 
AVhy should not I be let alone ; 

That's all I wish. 
J do not ask to use your spoon. 

Please then keep out my dish. 



156 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

I sometimes wish that I were dead 
The friendly earth clods o'er my head, 
While slimy grave worms round me tread, 

My companions thus to be: 
Though daily on my flesh they're fed 

'Twere preferable to me. 

Ye slandering imps, you little know. 
Or heed, or care, for another's woe, 
But hourly seek the overthrow 

Of those your betters. 
Your father, the D 1 waits for you. 

With chains and fetters. 

The ointment stinketh from dead flies. 
So folly in him accounted wise 
Becomes a source of great surprise ; 

And yet they claim 
There no wisdom in me lies 

But still they blame. 

Eight well 'tis known there is a host 
Who of forbidden fruit might boast. 
Ye are all possessed of Adam's ghost, 

As well as me. 
Perhaps it's not a week at most, 

Since you were up a tree. 

This final heed, ye thoughtless one, 
Abuse, accuse and have your fun. 



HIS FIRST PRAYER 157 

Fill up 3^our cup till overrun 

With earthly pleasure. 
By and by grim Death comes stalking on, 

And stricts* the measure. 



HIS FIRST PRAYER 

THE sun was setting o'er Phelps' Hill 
Long shadows up the valley lay, 
The thirsty earth had had its fill 
From a long and copious rain that day. 
The crystal drops on every side 

Smiled an adieu to the setting sun; 
The swollen brook seemed to feel a pride 
As laughing on its way it run. 

Near the stream was a humble cot 

With a beautiful orchard round about 
While lower down was a garden plot, 

Where now the brook ran in and out. 
Not that the brook forsook its course. 

Or a new channel made at all, 
But just the recent rain perforce 

Formed a miniature lake within the wall. 

Out from the cot when the rain had ceased, 
Came a little boy, some eight years old, 

Feeling very glad to be released. 

And down around the garden strolled. 



158 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

A little brown bird, a tiny wren, 
With tail erect, and head so small. 

Like himself a prisoner all day had been 
Now skipped about around the wall. 

The little boy picked up a stone, 

Nor thinking what he had better do, 
And quickly at the bird he flung, 

Alas! his aim was all too true. 
The cruel stone had done its work. 

She fell floating on the little pool. 
He picked her up, quite pleased at first, 

Like most of boys, as a general rule. 

But when he saw her drooping head. 

Her dead closed eyes, with not a stir, 
He realized that she was dead. 

Then thought. What did I kill her for? 
He gently stroked her soft bro\\Ti coat. 

His bosom heaved with pent-up sighs, 
A lump of grief came in his throat. 

As he gazed upon those dead closed eyes. 

Conviction woke within his mind; 

Kegret and grief came more and more. 
So bad it seemed to take a life, 

A life which he could not restore. 
He cast about to find relief, 

Unto his father he dare not go, 
Into his ear to pour his grief 

The balm for all his childish woe. 



HIS FIRST PRAYER 159 

For now it turned, on the other hand, 

And plainly came his father's words, 
In pleasant yet in firm command, 

''My little boy, don't stone the birds," 
Now such a course would never do. 

He dare not tell his grief to him. 
Instead of solace for his woe. 

Might bring trouble without, as well as within. 

He put the bird in a soft dry spot. 

The thought of God came in his mind ; 
From his earliest memory he had been taught 

As a friend that's ever true and kind. 
Then his course he plainly saw 

And to the hill pasture did repair, 
And beside a rock, on bended knee, 

Poured forth his childish heart in prayer. 

The Lord's Prayer he had been taught 

At his mother's knee, as many things 
Which parrot-like he did repeat 

While playing with her apron strings. 
Ah, many a prayer, I am afraid, 

By those professing better things. 
Are as heartless and as useless made. 

As toying with some apron strings. 

But as for that little boy's prayer. 

His cheeks bewet with the penitent tear, 

With a heart most broken with despair. 
Was such as God must love to hear. 



160 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

"0, God," lie cried, "look down on me, 
So wicked, wretched, and full of woe, 

For mother says that you can see 
Our every act and thought you know. 

I did not mean to kill that bird. 

And, O, it was a dreadful sin, 
But if you will forgive me. Lord, 

I'll never do the like again. 
'Twas the only life I did ever take, 

And none I ever wanted to. 
Except some mouse or nasty snake. 

And they're no earthly good you know. 

But that little bird has done no hurt, 

Nor in the least offended me. 
I threw that stone, just for sport. 

Not thinking what the end would be. 
But when I saw her on the wall, 

With a quick thought I was possessed. 
I threw the stone and saw her fall. 

0, now, dear I/ord, you know the rest. 

You know how sorry is my heart 

Of being the means of giving pain. 
O, I would give all I have got. 

To bring her back to life again. 
May be she has some little birds, 

All snug and Avarm their nest within, 
Who now are watching, with hungry mouths, 

For her who'll never come again. 



HIS FIRST PRAYER 161 

0, will not you care for them, Lord? 

I would if I knew where they staid, 
But the hand that killed the mother bird 

Is powerless now to give them aid. 
Now take me, Lord, and punish me. 

All that I deserve to be. 
If I could restore her life once more, 

I could bear anything cheerfully. 

But grief of mine cannot impart 

Life again to that little wren. 
O Lord, have pity on my aching heart, 

I ask for Jesus' sake. Amen." 
Now, I've told you true and certain 

Of that little boy's prayer, 
I^erhaps not given quite verbatim 

But the meaning all is there. 

How very different from some orison 

We hear in church or public place 
"Where God is made the second person 

And they themselves take all the praise. 
I've often thought, when to church I went, 

And listened to some lengthy praj'er, 
How much valuable breath is spent 

In telling God how good they are. 

Poor little boy. he little knew. 

The sense of wrong that made him grieve 
Taken from a philosophic view. 

Was the punishment he did receive. 



162 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

As grows the sprout, so stands the tree, 

A proverb plain to understand, 
A likeness or a simile, 

As was the boy so is the man. 

That boy lived on to the silvery age, 

Avoiding every possible strife, 
In wanton sport would not engage. 

And never for pleasure took a life. 
One little precept, and I am through, 

And end this little story here : 
"Wherever you are, whatever you do. 

Boys, always keep your conscience clear. 

EECOLLECTIONS 

OUR home was in a little dell, 
"With three high mountains round 
about, 
On North, and East, and South, as well 
Like a huge cradle with foot-board out. 
Towards the west, 
Where the sun 's last rays seemed fain to dwell 
E'er sank to rest. 

Where each side mountain meets the East 

From unknown springs two streams arise. 
Converging as their course increase 
And joining where the valley lies. 
At the upper end, 
Thus forming a brook of considerable size 
Down through the glen. 



KECOLLECTIONS 163 

About its banks happy children walked, 
To enjoy themselves as children will; 
They fished, and played, and laughed and 
talked, 
xVnd ran at races round the hill, 
Or side by side, 
Watched the stream from some nearby rock. 
For a delusive ride. 

I was not more than six years old, 

"When first I learned to bait my hook 
I east my line in many a hole, 

Along the banks of that noisy brook, 
0, what delight; 
I dropped my pole and ran for home, 
At my first bite. 

How vividly do I recall, 

Those boyhood days, each remembered scene, 
The lower falls, the Towsley knoll 
The caving bank across the stream, 
So rough and steep. 
The old house lot, where the Parish boy stole 
The August sweets. 

And the little dun cow, that father had. 

She being the family's milk supply, 
With her calf removed, she felt so bad, 
Across the fields she 'd look and cry. 
As in despair; 
And we children claimed, our Bossy said. 
Is Johnny t-h-e-r-e ? 



164 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The stony road, the steep side hills, 

The clump of spruce near the pasture bar, 
Where the boy doctor with powders and pills, 
Called on his patient, Nancy R., 
Who indignant grew, 
And left with her pretended ills, 
Without adieu. 

There was the flat above the spring. 

Where grandpa came and helped us hoe. 
Where Crackey broke the gobbler's wing. 
With stones he so much loved to throw 
To show his art, 
And when the same I came to know, 
It broke my heart. 

Those childhood days have passed away. 

Like the many friends that's gone before, 
Our mirror says we're old and gray. 
And can be young, no, never more. 
The fate of all ; 
Yet let us take what there is in store 
Till the final call. 

GRANDFATHER'S PIG 

OHO, oho, there's a story I know, 
Descended to me thro' a maternal 
line, 
Concerning my grandfather near a century ago. 
When wild beasts were plenty, and hunting 
was fine. 



GRANDFATHER'S PIG 165 

The scene of my subject I here will relate, 

Is laid in a country where forests abound, 
On the side of a mountain in the Green Mount- 
ain State, 
"With bruins so numerous, it was christened 
Bear To^ti. 

The people there living were a curious lot, 
For morals, or honor, they little expressed 

To the sweet voice of conscience they hardly 
gave thought. 
If such a rare quality they ever possessed. 

No one is to blame for what others have done, 
In those days it was called a despicable spot ; 

A Sodom, and Gomorrah, if there ever was one, 
Mayhe by to-day they 're a Christ-loving lot. 

Poor old grandfather lived there with the rest, 
With his hands for his income, and family 

And ne'er all the treasure, in this world he pos- 
sessed 
"Was the aforesaid family, and a nice thriving 
pig- 
One thing is certain whatever it be, 

Men prized their possessions, whether little or 
big, 
It may be a railroad, or ships on the sea, 
All the way down to a sheep, or a pig. 



166 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The prospective porker was placed in a sty, 
"Within an inclosure and encircled about, 

Consisting of logs so strong, and so high, 

'Twas thought no wild ''varmint" could get 
in or out. 

There came a time one dark stormy night, 
The rain fell in torrents on forests and fen 

The people were given a terrible fright, 

When a pitiful squealing was heard in the 
pen. 

They rushed to the door, yet nothing could see, 
So dense was the darlmess, one almost could 
feel. 
They dare not pursue, for a bear it might be. 
While fast towards the forest continued the 
squeal. 

Next morn, held an inquest, to discover the facts. 
And note how that bruin got out of the pen ; 

No scratch on the logs, or traces of tracks, 

But what might be made by the travel of men. 

When butchering time came round the next Fall, 
And many good hogs to slaughter were 
brought, 
One of his neighbors, had the best one of all. 
But none ever knew where the porker was 
bought. 



JOHN JONES 167 

Grandfather died, and returned back to clay, 
A man full of years, of labor, and cares, 

And never once doubted till his dying day 
But what his poor pig, made a supper for 
bears. 



JOHN JONES 

HELLO ! John Jones, how do you do? 
You're looking fine, and are, no 
doubt. 
"What's the good word? Is there anything new 

That's worth the while to talk about? 
How has the Agency progressed? 
Has law and order been possessed? 
And is the drinking man distressed 

Since Agent Green stepped down and out?" 

"Yes, I am well, as well as can be. 

There's not much news to tell perhaps 
Except the Steamer Aid company, 

One night at drill, had some little "scraps." 
"We go for Clement and his license fad, too ; 
Some fines have been paid, and that is bad, too ; 
And some have been married and were glad to ; 

And there's been a great decrease in cats. 

"The Liquor Agency, it is a fact, 

Is no fit place for many a one. 
Some develop a desire for killing cats 

And some a taste for sampling rum. 



168 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The present incumbent, so they say 
Against all felines his malice lay; 
So, many a cat has passed away 

From the deadly shot of his dreadful gun, 

"A beautiful kitty, with fur like silk 

Belonged to a neighbor who lived nearby. 

She caught her mice and drank her milk 
Nor on chickens cast a longing eye. 

One day, he saw her walking 'round. 

He immediately his gun took do\\Ti ; 

A sudden flash ! A dreadful sound ! 
And poor little kitty had to die, 

' ' He picked her up and carried her down, 
(Methinks he wore a fiendish smile) 

And interred her in his cat-burying groimd 
Where many a cat he'd buried, the while. 

But when her owner learned the same, 

He quickly to the agent came, 

And had him dig her up again, 
And given burial in a decent style, 

"And there they sleep, full many a cat, 

No friend to Imow where rest their bones; 
'Tis thought if he their tablets bought 

His salary would not supply the stones," 
"All right, my friend, I'm glad you're well, 
I would 'twere dogs, not cats that fell. 
If there's nothing more than that to tell, 
I must be going. Good-bye, John Jones,'' 



Y 



1 1'.!) 
ONLY A FEW YEARS BACK 

SONG 

OU need not feel so proud, my son, 

And hold so high your head, 
Nor think all eyes will on you turn 
Because you're newly wed. 
It is not all admiration, 

Which you '11 find to be a fact, 
It is the road your father 's trod 
Only a few years back. 

Refrain — 

Only a few years back, my son. 

Only a few years back, 
We old men too were young like you, 

And much the same did act. 
We thought the world was made for us, 

Which shows what sense we lacked ; 
'Twas only a few years back, my son, 

'Twas only a few years back. 

In youth's bright rosy morn, my son, 

How pleasant all things seem ! 
The happy hours glide sweetly on, 

Like a leaf upon the stream. 
But soon will age and ailments come 

Like wolves upon the track 
And crush the joys that once were ours, 

Only a few years back. 



170 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

How often 'tis the case, my son, 

When Cupid's charms first move, 
To think our choice the only one 

That none possess such love ; 
But after years of wedded life, 

Their love grows cool and slack, 
And then they sigh, "what a fool was I 

Only a few years back. ' ' 

There is a wrong I've seen, my son, 

Which does seem strange, of course, 
So many a match in joy begun 

Have ended in divorce, 
Heed not the world, its cheers nor sneers. 

'Tis only senseless clack. 
It has caused strife 'twixt man and wife, 

Only a few years back. 

Just one word more to you my son. 

And my advice is through, 
Think when to years your bride has come 

You're on the same road too. 
But love and care for the silvered hair, 

Which now is glossy black. 
And cherish her whose choice you were, 

Only a few years back. 



171 
THE WHIP-POOR-WILL 

DEAR friend of mine, do you recall, 
A ride we took one summer's night, 
The air was balmy, dark withal, 
The stars shone forth with a feeble light. 
And nature's voices all were still, 

Except tlie notes of the Whip-poor-will. 

The crescent moon perhaps had set. 

Or if in full an hour late ; 
The fire-fly his lamp had lit. 

Whereby to try and find his mate 
For fear if he neglect to mind her, 
Some other lightning-bug might find her. 

Wise little bug ! Man would do well 

Thy simple course to imitate. 
How many griefs and tears dispel. 

By zealous care to guard their mate: 
But if inclined to ways that's vain, 
To try and win them back again. 

But right is right and is never wrong. 
And man is what he is made to be. 

Willful, selfish, and headstrong, 
A type of inconsistency. 

No moral mission can I fulfill 

But to sing the praise of the Whip-poor-wiU. 

In rapture wrapt we rode along, 

As their notes rang forth from vale and hill, 



172 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Not David's harp or siren's song 

Would have had the charm of the Whip-poor- 
will. 
I have heard sweet music in many a land, 

But none compared with that feathered band. 

The time is passed and we are gone. 

No more the Whip-poor-wills remain. 
The time will come they will return, 

Maybe we too may meet again. 
But until stern death my memory stills 
I will never forget the Whip-poor-wills. 

AN ANSWER 

This answer was sent to ]\Iiss Grant, a pupil 
at Northfield, who sent her love to the author, 
and asked him to send her a sheep. 

MY dear Miss G. I will agree 
It is not a thing uncommon 
For a man like me, though wed he be, 
To receive love from another woman. 

Yet I confess your mild request 

I cannot grant in full; 
I cannot send a sheep, my friend. 

But will send a lock of wool. 

And now fair maid, don't be dismayed, 

Or feel the least surprise, 
For it's understood, that wool is good, 

Unless pulled over the eyes. 



TWO LITTLE GIRLS 173 

One word to you, and then adieu, 

As long as life endures. 
Let never a beau, whether married or no. 

Pull any over yours. 

CONSOLATION 

WHY grieve for things we cannot help. 
Since grieving is in vain ; 
Why waste our tears and weary self, 
For things we can't obtain? 
Half our care, and half our tears 

Are based on false or fleeting fears, 
After night the morn appears, — 
Bright sunshine after rain. 

TWO LITTLE GIRLS 

This poem brought the wood and the old 
neighbor still lives. 

TWO little girls lived by themselves. 
By themselves lived all alone, 
No prettier girls the world e'er saw 
Or happier girls were known. 
They studied, and read, worked and played, 

Meaning to do right, but seldom prayed. 
And never felt the least dismayed, 
Unless their wood was gone. 

A chilly old neighbor lived thereabout, 
Though seeming bad, meant to be good; 



174 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

So every time when the girls got out, 

From his scanty pile supplied them wood. 

Thus to be just he did aspire, 

To keep peace with his conscience while the 
girls kept fire 

To warm themselves to their heart's desire, 
And smiled that thus he could. 

But autumn time soon passed away, 

Stern winter came, with icy breath, 
Those thoughtless girls had forgot to pay 

Back in wood again, as they should in faith, 
So one morning when the girls came down 

All good and warm for their school in town, 
Their poor old neighbor there they found, 

All frozen stiff in death. 



KITTY GOOD-BY 

DARK comes the night Avith its damp, 
deathlike shadoM', 
Sadly the autumn winds sigh through 
the bough, 
Hushed is the song of the lark in the meadow. 

Gone like the breath of a false lover's vow. 
Where is the hope that once swelled my bosom? 

Where is the joy that once lighted my eye? 
Gone, like the blush of the past summer's blos- 
som. 
Plucked by foul fingers; then Kitty Good-by. 



KITTY GOOD-BY 175 

For the source of my sorrow I will not accuse 
thee, 
Though straws show the source from whence 
the winds blow. 
If I am mistaken, in mercy forgive me. 

For sad sinks my heart at the thought of your 
woe. 
In spite of the past, if I am discarded, 

In spite of the flower I have valued so high. 
In spite of the bud so sweetly regarded,. 
If that's the position, then Kitty Good-by. 

I will make no complaint, though my heart it is 
bleeding, 
And no one the source of my sorrow shall 
trace, 
Though the worm of despair at my heart strings 
is feeding, 
And furrows of sadness are stamped on my 
face. 
Husband ne'er lived that was ever more faith- 
ful:— 
The joy of my heart, the light of my eye, 
Misguided by lips too often untruthful, 
Usurped by another, then Kitty Good-by. 

What's my reward for the steps I have taken? 
And where is the gain for the dangers I've 
dared, 
If flattered to-day and to-morrow forsaken, 
And you yield to another the bliss I have 
shared ? 



176 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Yet never a word will I utter against thee 

Till the cold hand of death close ray lips and 
mine eye. 
But like a true man I would will to assist thee, 
Though gone from my arms; then Kitty 
Good-by. 

Surely the snare is almost completed, 

Plain the handwriting is stamped on the wall, 
If you heed not the warning, so often repeated, 

Sure you must meet with a ruinous fall. 
I speak not in anger, but sober and honest. 

Take heed of the danger that's lingering nigh, 
Be true to your conscience, be true to your 
promise, 

Or else I must ever say, Kitty Good-by. 

FOOD AND SLEEP, or LITTLE WILLIE 

YOU spake to me about your dreams 
Which are peculiar, wierd and strange, 
I am no M.D. and yet it seems 
Your digestive force must be deranged. 
I have heard it said, and I think it's right. 
To eat a meal however light 
Before retiring for the night 

Is productive of unhappy change. 

There are some people, so I 've heard said, 
And for such practice I can't see why 

Who every night before going to bed 

IMust cram their stomach Avith a piece of pie, 



FOOD AND SLEEP 177 

Then tumble and toss with stomach ache 
Till morning comes ; soon as awake 
They then some noxious nostrum take 
For fear that they are going to die. 

J don 't mean you, nothing of the sort, 

By such measures you would not stick 
But three meals a day, when days are short 

Is enough to make a person sick. 
Nature's ways are always best, 
There 's a time to eat and a time to rest. 
No one sleeps well with stomach pres't 
'Tis taxing digestion a little too "quick." 

There was once a man who called a doctor, 

Who asked "What practice do you pursue?" 
"I eat," says he, "before retiring, 

A piece of mince pie, last thing I do 
And then my dreams are full of bother, 
I dream of seeing my grandmother." 
"Well," said the doctor, "If you'd eat another 
You might dream of seeing your grandfather 
too." 

Now apropos of what's been said 

A little story I will reproduce 
As told me by a friend I had. 

It happened when he was but a youth. 
Bereft of parents and left alone. 
Like the fate of many an orphan shown. 
On the tender mercies of others thrown 

And this he told as strictest truth. 



178 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

With a rich old farmer he went to dwell, 
For a little schooling, his clothes and keep. 

About most of things they used him well. 
But kept him short on things to eat. 

'Tis a well-known fact of a growing lad 

He wants enough to eat, and wants it bad 

And if denied, sometimes gets mad 

And resorts to means that can't be beat. 

He said, many a night when he went to bed 
And closed his eyes and tried to sleep 

Such thoughts of food run in his head 
All tempting like, and nice to eat. 

But just restitution was drawing nigh, 

A hungry boy to satisfy, 

In everything a full supply, 

Abundant, ample, and complete. 

It happened on a Sabbath day, 

That the old man was going from home. 
And all the family went away. 

And left the lad to keep house alone. 
When all had gone, he began to feel 
What he wished to eat, would be no steal 
So he thought he'd get him a good square meal. 
Whether or not it was ever known. 

He straightway to the garden went, 
And dug a peck of ' ' Early Rose, ' ' 

Picked peas and beans to quite an extent 
Besides other things that in a garden grows. 




So he threw liiiiiselt' niuler a little spruce, and in a minute 
was fast asleep 



FOOD AND SLEEP 179 

Tv.o cabbage heads he also got, 

Of beets and carrots he pulled a lot, 

Enough to fill a dinner pot 

He picked, and then cooked all of those. 

Next to the cellar he did repair. 

Two pounds of pork he got and fried, 

And bread and butter, an ample share 
Preserves, and pickles, and cake, beside. 

When all was ready for this bounteous fare. 

He to the table drew his chair 

And sat and ate all that was there 
"Which would made a dozen satisfied. 

The day w^as hastening to be night. 

The sinking sun was shining still 
Flooding the earth with a golden light, 

Shedding warm, soft rays, o'er vale and hill. 
The time for chores had come by now, 
So he fixed up and left the house 
And went to the pasture for the cows 

His daily duty to fulfill. 

As he was winding up the path 

He felt oppressed by the glowing heat, 
He felt a shortness of his breath, 

So weary, and such lagging feet. 

Says to himself, "What is the use, 
Why I should not rest there's no excuse?" 
So he threw himself under a little spruce 

And in a minute was sound asleep. 



180 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Well, night came on and the folks came home, 

By other hands the chores were done, 
For no one laiew where the boy had gone 
And the old man milked his cows alone. 
And so it was on the following day, 
Things kept along in their usual way. 
About the boy there was nothing to say 

For they thought him gone where formerly 
known. 

Mornings came, and nights would follow. 

Suns arose, and suns would set, 
There was none to look for the little fellow 

To shield from heat or dewey wet. 
Winds arose and whistled o'er him 

Gathering clouds with rain would pour him 
All the world seemed to ignore him, 

But still the little fellow slept. 

And now the nights grew long and chilly, 

Of coming Winter it bespeaks, 
Out in the field lays little Willie, 

Closed are his eyes and pale his cheeks. 
But ha ! he stirs, he opens his eyes, — 
With vain attempts he tries to rise. 
He easts about, to his surprise 

He finds he 's lain there about three weeks. 

Now peradventure, you doubt the truth 

Whether thjs tale be true or not, 
I will herewith supply the proof 

For when the lad was in the lot 



THE CLERK OF PIGEON'S STORE 181 

There came a certain camera fiend, 
Who took a snapshot of the scene 
And now the same to you I'll send, 
'Tis the only one that was ever got. 



THE CLERK OP PIGEON'S STORE 

IN FIVE PARTS 

Read before the W. C. T. TJ. State Convention at 
Bellows Falls, Vermont, Oct. 3, 1901 

Part First 

A Court Scene 



Y 



t61^ T^OUR HONOR," said the attorney, 
Addressing the all wise Court, 
' ' The case that 's now before you 
Is of the gravest sort; 
A crime of vast enormity, 

Has been perpetrated of late. 
Against all moral consistency. 
And the dignity of the State." 

With many times, "Your Honor," 

"May it please the Court," and such, 
Till the Court began to ponder 

If he'd ever had so much. 
Then from the warrant, at the proper time 

He read the date, and place, 
The name and nature of the crime. 

And the respondents in the case. 



182 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The Court till now had hardly stirred, 

Just bowed, as if agreed, 
Scratched down some great uncertain words. 

And muttered out, "Proceed." 
Perhaps he had been thinking, 

"What a lucky man he'd been 
To have escaped temptation. 

Or the consequence of sin. 

Now all was arranged, with haste and bustle, 

Each witness called and sworn; 
And seats were exchanged, and papers rustle 

Like leaves before the storm. 
"When order again resumed her reign, 

And quiet did restore. 
And wits being taxed to reveal the facts, 

Let us look the Court Room o'er. 

Whom have we here that's thus accused? 

An old-time hardened one. 
Who law and order hath abused, 

In selling accursed rum. 
For crimes on earth he's often paid 

In gold, yet who can tell 
Of the countless worth, in his wicked trade, 

Of souls he's sold to hell. 

Spectator dear, don't ever fear 

Or drop a tear of thine ; 
This wretched brute will soon get clear 

By paying a moderate fine: 



THE CLERK OF PIGEON'S STORE 183 

And soon another case is called, 

Another prisoner takes the place. 
The State's Attorney addresses all, 

The same as in the former case. 



Part Second 
A Spectator's Story 

Lo ! Behold, this is not a man ! 

Look on those eyes, so mild. 
Behold that face, so pale and wan, 
"Whose woman's life is scarce begun, 

She is hardly but a child. 
She to this great tribunal came, 

This child, the bride of half a year, 
Behold the grief, regret and shame: 
No eye to pity, but many to blame 

Great God! What mercy have we here^ 

The love of folly runs so high, 

Temptation is so strong. 
That many a one while passing by, 
]\Iay turn aside, nor asking why, 

A path should lead to wrong. 

No thought of law ran through her head 
Nor conscience made the least complaint ; 

Although a bride, to another wed, 

A married life so short had led. 
She felt not its safe restraint. 



184 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

A few old heads court always brings 

Sat tilted back in their big arm chairs, 
And by sly winks, and whisperings, 
They talked of many curious things 
Not found in books of prayers. 

And then, with the thought that satisfies. 
Their own pure robes were brought to view. 

They felt the pride deceit supplies; 

How white they looked in others' eyes 
Compared with her crimson hue. 

And pious old Deacon Goodenough, 

He gave an exhortation. 
He said, ' ' such base and wicked stuff, 
"Without God's grace to keep it off 

Would surely curse the nation." 

He said, "for all our care and toil 

As a punishment for sin. 
The blight and frost would lay waste our soil 
That worms, and bugs, our crops would spoil. 

And destruction would begin. 

And then he thought, — and his eyes grew 
bright, — 

Of scenes in his own pure life ; 
How a week ago last Sunday night, 
No one would know whether wrong or right, 

He kissed neighbor Worldling's wife. 



THE CLERK OF PIGEON'S STORE 185 

'Twas by inspiration, Ave understand, 

Nor could lie his acts control; 
Though the operation pleased the man, 
]t was ordained by the great wise plan 

Through the body to reach the soul. 



The case is through. What greets my ear? 

"Guilty" I hear the foreman say. 
Now comes the sentence of five long years. 
A father's sigh, a mother's tears, 

And the weeping prisoner is led away. 

Now let me say to each proud lass 
Don't try a fallen mate to spurn, 

Don't look so high, as on you pass: 

Your house is also made of glass ; 
It soon may be your turn. 

Think ye that those whose life was spent, 
On whom the tower of Siloam fell, 

AVere greater sinners than those extant ? 

I tell you nay, "Except ye repent 
Ye shall all perish as well." 

Think you this child, whose sin was shown, 

Was far more vile than hundreds 'round ? 
I tell you no, if the truth was kno^vn, 
And each transgressor were in prison thrown, 
Sufficient guards could not be found. 



186 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

To shelter vice we've no design, 

Nor have we lot or part, 
But just to show full many a time 
The onward flow of vice and crime. 

From ignorance often start. 

How happy must those parents be, 

Whose children dutiful remain, 
From every vice and folly free, 
And delight not in perversity, 

Nor give their parents pain. 

Part Third 
Making Officers 

' ' Good evening. Judge, how do you do ? 

You must be tired to-night; 
Let me fix a glass of sling for you. 
It will cheer you up and rest you too. 
By the way, I hear that case is through. 

I swear, you served her right. 

For several weeks she's been going round, 
With a sort of beau she had before. 

They will find such things will not go down. 

In a civilized and Christian town, 

When they went for him he could not be found. 
He used to clerk it in Pigeon's store." 

' ' You 'd not catch my son in such a muss. 

For better things he was intended. 
In my good advice he always trusts. ' ' 



THE CLERK OF PIGEON'S STORE 187 

And while the father was talking thus 
The lad was too drunk for love or lust, 
In the dining room extended. 

"Her husband, by the way, you see, 

Is as good a fellow as you'd find in years. 

For several months he's been with me, 

And sometimes gets on a little spree ; 

And that's the why they could not agree, 
So she picks up, and clears." 

**That ease of mine was different you see. 

Here, this drop is ready, may it give you 
cheer. 
1 keep a house of respectability. 
Both Bench and Bar patronize me, 
And friends of very high degree. 

In circles, far and near." 

The Judge — 
Now, Mr. Brown, I will say to you. 

You had the sympathy of the Court: 
Could I have done as I wanted to, 
I'd dismissed the case, long e'er 'twas through. 
But must keep the public wish in view. 

In them is my support. ' ' 

"And viewing the case from every side, 

I did my very best, I think. 
The fine was the least the laws provide. 
In any case I've ever tried. 
"Well, thank ye, Judge, I'm satisfied. 

Here, take another drink." 



188 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Now about support, says Landlord Brown. 

' ' I don 't believe in bribes, you see, 
But Prohibition must come down : 
Some strong man ought to represent this town. 
You can depend on me, when the time comes 
round. 

If you '11 speak a word for me. ' ' 

Judge — 

* ' 1 see no cause why you should not win, 

So very modest is your request." 
States Attorney Kemp just then came in, 
Who being pledged in a glass of gin, 
They submitted the case in full to him. 

Who declared he thought it best. 

They drank and talked, till the hour was late, 
And as might have been expected, 

The breath of rum made up the slate. 

Attorney Kemp, he stumped the State, 

Another term was the Judge's fate. 
And Brown, he got elected. 



Part Fourth 

A Citizen's Story 

And so the time drags slowly by : 
Poor sinful Nell doth in prison lie, 
And little hears or sees. 



THE CLERK OF PIGEON'S STORE 189 

Old BroMn had gone to his last long home, 
In an epileptic fit, though caused by rum. 
Her husband, too, had met his doom, 
In one of his "little sprees." 

That model son, still there doth dwell, 
And tries to run the old hotel 

(To ruin it would appear). 
He married too has been, of course, 
But his wife soon left, and got divorce : 
His tongue seems thick, his voice is hoarse ; 

His eyes are red and blear. 

The sin of the father upon the son, 

Such seems the reward for selling rum, — 

And will be evermore. 
The world moves on with busy hum. 
And even Nell is forgot by some, 
And still no tidings ever come 

From the clerk of Pigeon's store. 

And now five years have passed away. 
And free the prisoner comes to-day, 

Free only in the name : 
The hills and vales she used to know, 
Seem but to frown, or reflect her woe : 
To a father's house she cannot go. 
On whom she 's brought such shame. 

Her early friends now pass her by. 
No loving words or laughing eye, — 
Their wont, in former time. 



190 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

All treat her cool, or with contempt, 
Except the great Attorney Kemp. 
A pretended friend for vile intent, 
Yet foiled in his design. 

Shunned, and despised and left alone, 
No hand to shield or give a home. 

With spirits sinking down : 
How one wrong act youth's hope destroys! 
To be a drunkard's wife was not her choice. 
Nor could she love such a face and voice, 

Yet she married that son of BrowTi. 

And here the words are aptly said, 

''A warning take how you make your bed 

For sure as Heaven's above, 
Better regret than repent instead, 
A living death is worse than dead; 
It is better to love where you cannot wed, 

Than wed where you cannot love. 

Now unpaid bills come thick and fast. 
The old hotel is quit, at last. 

For a hovel, far less grand. 
Six years have passed since that marriage morn. 
Two puny children to them are born, 
With none to feed or keep them warm, 

But that poor mother's hand. 

He at his home will not reside. 
Except for meals that wife provides. 
Such a wretch he has become. 



THE CLERK OF PIGEON'S STORE 191 

Heeds not his family 's want and woes, 
But daily to the bar room goes, 
And even pawns his children's clothes, 
To buy his cursed rum. 

No kind word greets poor Nellie's ear 
To smooth her path, her heart to cheer, 

As the end is drawing nigh. 
Now weak and wasted she appears, 
From cold and want those few short years. 
By her children 's couch in prayers and tears 

She lays her do\\Ta to die. 

Now fold her hands across her breast, 
Above a heart at last at rest, 

And freed from all its pain. 
The demands of law are satisfied. 
And human kindness has been denied; 
By the demon Rum, she pined and died. 

Great God, Where is the gain? 

Part Fifth 

The Porter's Story 

"All Aboard," the conductor cries, 
Then waves his hand, and off she flies 
'Mid distant hills toward eastern skies 

Till all is lost to sight. 
Among the crowd the train left there. 
Was a tall young man, exceeding fair, 
And being arrayed in rich attire. 

With a countenance, clear and bright. 



192 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Then, turning to a porter, standing ronnd, 
''Can you tell me, sir, of a Mr. Brown, 
Who used to keep hotel in town, 

May now, for what I know?" 
''No, he's left this world, so I expects 
If you find old Brown, you must go to the next ; 
For really he passed in his checks, 

A dozen years ago." 
"Well, can you tell me of the son, 
Or another, a sort of a hanger on. 
Who married the girl, so very young. 

And worked for his board and beer?" 
"Well, sir, it's a tale of great disgrace. 
You must be a stranger in this place. 
To not have heard of this curious case. 

Or else been long from here. 



"That hanger on was a drinking toad, 
One night got on too big a load. 
And got pitched out into the road. 

And broke his neck, I think. 
Young Brown was a very nice man, you know 
But married the widder, and she was low, 
She'd been to prison, a term or so. 

And he finally took to drink. 

' ' She was that bad, so said report, 
The authorities thought to spoil her sport. 
My Dad was Judge then at the court, 
Had her in prison flung. 



THE CLERK OF PIGEON'S STORE 193 

Her partner thought, to save his soup, 
He just go up and cleared the coop, 
And jined a western thieving troop, 
Was caught for crime, and hung. ' ' 



"And now to come to the present time. 
Poor Brown in an asylum is confined; 
He being much broken in his mind, 

From tremens, so 'tis said. 
Three days ago, so I've been told. 
Some neighbors went to their wretched hole, 
And found Mrs. Bro^vn stark, stiff, and cold, 

Beside her children, dead. ' ' 

Like as the wind might shake the leaf. 
His manly form, convulsed with grief, 
And sighed, ' ' Poor Nell, ' ' his voice beneath, 

"I ne'er shall see you more." 
' ' "Why need this tale so trouble you ? 
They're nothing but a beggarly crew. 
There comes the fimeral train in view. 

And the Overseer of the Poor. 
You'll see no mourners in that ar' row, 
But her boy of four, and her girl of two, 
And they to the poor-house will have to go 

As soon as the funeral is o 'er. ' ' 
Then spake the stranger undismayed, 
"Those expenses, sir, shall all be paid. 
If with your Overseer I can make a trade, 

They shall trouble you no more." 



194 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Next day before the eventide 

That stranger westward was seen to ride, 

With those two little orphans by his side, 

And never was seen there more. 
He was a brother, some people said, 
Some thought a spirit came from the dead, 
But one old Sport, he shook his head, 

'Twas that clerk of Pigeon's store. 

Let us inquire, who have the insight, 
Where is the wrong the laws made right ; 
Or where the aid society might 

Have given before too late? 
And could the law have seized on him, 
Tie would have been crushed for his boyish sin. 
And a people would never so proud have been, 

When he governed a western State. 



THE OLD MAN'S STORY 

SHE was a joyous little sprite, 
Of age scarce four years old, 
With peach-like cheeks, and eyes so bright, 
Her flaxen hair so long and light. 
Just tinged with sunny gold. 

I was her senior by twenty year ; 

I 'd lived a free and single life, 
And nothing would have seemed so queer. 
Or filled my mind with greater fear, 

Than the thought of taking a wife. 



THE OLD MAN'S STORY 195 

And many an evening after tea, 
When often to her home I've been, 
She used to sit upon my knee, 
And tell me that she was going to be 
"When she was grown, a queen. 

And would have a castle, big as a bam, 

And lots of servants to provide her food, 
And silken goAvns to keep her warm, 
I might be her steward and mind her farm. 
If I were only good. 

Sweet little Rose, how blest the theme 

Her childlike thoughts impart ; 
Little did I think, or even dream 
That she in fact would be a queen, 

And reign within my heart. 

Yet frequently when I've been there, 

To while away an hour of life. 
She used to sport about my chair, 
And took delight to comb my hair 

I would call her ' ' little wife. ' ' 

Though four score years have come and gone, 
And I full many a fair face have seen, 
But none to me produced that charm 
Like that sweet face and fairy form 
Of Rose, my baby queen. 

But time flew by full fast I own, 

Like as the breeze sweeps o'er the hill, 



196 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

And Rose to womanhood had grown ; 
The sweetest flower from bud had blown, 
While I seemed standing still. 

Though I was more than twice her age, 
How very strange it seemed to me 

When once we met within the stage, 

And in conversation did engage, 
So coarse I seemed to be. 

And could it be, this charming girl 

Was the outgrowth of that pretty child? 

It put my reason in a whirl, 

She seemed a being from some other world, 
My pulse beat high and wild. 

And long before that journey closed, 

Cupid, with unerring dart. 
However long I 'd been disposed 
To female charms to be opposed. 

Touched my reluctant heart. 

And so it was in season due, 

Nor waited long for time to come, 

In stammering words though short and few, 

Or what I said I never knew, 

But my Rose was wooed, and won. 

A fairer blossom never grew; 

Whose name she ever bore in life, 
With a heart so gentle, kind, and true. 
No sweeter face I ever knew, 

My beautiful girl ^dfe ! 



THE OLD MAN'S STORY 197 

And when a year of bliss had flown, 

iVnd passed a final trying stage, 
A tiny infant claimed our home. 
To share our love, to call our own, 

And comfort us in age. 

I'd fondly hoped, for the mother's sake 
As I was old 'twould have been a son. 
But after birth no choice we make, 
So our baby girl to our hearts did take 
And said "God's will be done." 

"We called our little darling Grace. 

She was so winning mild and fair, 
A little sunbeam in the place, 
And bore her mother's form and face 

With but my eyes and hair. 

My Rose was a charming girl beside — 

To me there was no other; 
But dearer when my wedded bride, 
Yet never gave me half the pride. 

As w^hen a fair yoimg mother. 

So year by year the time went by. 
On fairy wings it seemed to move ; 

So happy was my Rose and I, 

"Without a cause to grieve or sigh. 
Blest in each other's love. 

No thought of sorrow gave us woe, 
Unless it be of a borrowed kind. 



198 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

1 being old, and told her so, 
I soon to the unknown world must go, 
And leave all dear behind. 

Sweet as a flower the dews retain 

Her eyes would fill with tears I'd see, 
Then said, "Who knows which shall remain' 
Don't talk so, dear, you give me pain, 
You long may outlive me." 

How little thought I at that time, 
That her words would come so true ! 

She being young, and in her prime; 

Yet years have dimmed these eyes of mine, 
Since last I looked on her adieu. 

Our little Grace grew fast and fair. 

The years flew by as ebbs the tide. 
She scarce had reached her eighteenth year, 
When a neighboring lad came often there. 

And sought her for his bride. 

We said such course at once must stop, 

Our babe of only yesterday! 
And whether he was good or not, 
We could not even bear the thought. 

That she should go away. 

But as for Grace, dear gentle child! 

Made no complaint to weep or wail, 
Though silent grew yet always mild, 
And ever met us with a smile. 

Yet day by day grew thin and pale. 



THE OLD MAN'S STORY 199 

''Mother," said I, "if Grace would wed, 

Let's not oppose our darling girl, 
"We all must lie as Ave make our bed, 
How apt the words of Him who said, 

"For this cause came I into the world." 

So in a little time 'twas known 
Our full and free consent did give. 

Two loving hearts were made as one. 

We lost not Grace, but gained a son. 
As both came home with us to live. 

"What need I tell, as the years went by, 

Of every care, of every joy, 
Of the mutual pride of Rose and I, 
As in his mother's arms he lay 

Our bouncing fine grand-boy. 

And now the years told hard on me. 

My very bones were full of pain, 
Without my specks I could not see. 
My staff was my constant company, 

My limbs were stiff and lame. 

While Rose was lithe as at seventeen ; 

0, how it filled my heart with joy. 
As oft behind the window screen 
I've watched them frolic on the green. 

My Rose and her grand-boy. 

When about the place we've often searched. 
When we found the one there was the other. 



200 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

No pair of peas were better matched; 
He to his "dramma" seemed more attached, 
Than to his own fond mother. 

But an unseen foe was lingering near 

With which no human power can cope. 
Those bright blue eyes grew strangely clear, 
Bright spots on either cheek appear, 
With pain in chest and throat. 

And so I watched my flower decay, 
Without the power to help or save, 

I saw her failing day by day, 

Until the thread of life gave way. 
And she sank into her grave. 

O, that dreadful night, can I forget, — 

Though years may roll and seasons fly, 
When by her dying couch I sat 
My grief too great my cheeks too wet. 

She kissed me, whispered a last "Good-bye, 

And strange it seems that I've lived on, 

My star of hope forever set. 
Night passed away, the morning came. 
All joy for me forever flown. 

And still I 'm lingering yet. 

I took the child in my embrace. 

Who cried as if his heart would break, 



THE OLD MAN'S STORY 201 

And carried him to the hallowed place, 
That he might once more behold the face 

Of poor "dramma" who nevermore would 
speak. 

Then in the cold, remorseless ground, 

They laid my Eose, my beautiful dead, 
My heart-strings broke by every sound 
Of the stone and earth that tumbled down. 
Upon that coiBn lid. 

And from that day 'twas plainly seen, 

That poor little boy began 
To be sad and silent, grew pale and lean, 
And now a little grave is green. 

Beside that larger one. 

And still I 'm lingering near the gate. 
That soon must open and let me pass, 

"Why is it such should be my fate. 

So very long I have to wait, 
To meet my loved at last? 

Now many years have passed away 

Since all was lost that cheered my home, 
My eyes are dim, my locks are grey. 
But I hope to meet my Rose some day. 
Where death can never come. 



202 

I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP 

WHY waste my time in anxious thought ? 
To wreak and range and ramble 
o'er, 
The paths of the past almost forgot, 

Like youthful days to come no more. 
Bright days have lost their Avonted glory- 
Damp chills of earth around me creep, 
All seems a wierd and wornout story, 
I lay me down to sleep, dear one, 
I lay me down to sleep. 

Once this face, now old and wrinkled. 

Was like thine own, round, rosy, fair, 
And those locks with gray now sprinkled, 

Were former curls of chestnut hair. 
And things that once held high attraction 

And filled my soul with pleasure deep, 
Affords but little satisfaction. 

I lay me dowTi to sleep, dear one, 
I lay me dowTi to sleep. 

In days of youth, of mirth and pleasure, 

Little forethought we can have 
Of the journey short in measure. 

From the cradle to the grave. 
And when I hear the church bells tolling, 

Some will laugh and some will weep, 
While youthful feet for pleasure strolling, 

I lay me down to sleep, dear one, 
I lay me down to sleep. 



I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP 203 

Joyous hearts for woe unfitted 

With face to smile and voice to laugh, 
Sweet innocence, how much I've pitied, 

For unseen snares along your path. 
Whether beset by thorns or flowers, 

You, your destined course must keep, 
Whether the day brings sun or showers, 

I lay me down to sleep, dear one, 
I lay me down to sleep. 

T used to think in fancies wild, 

Before I had been better told, 
That I should always be a child. 

And that the aged were always old. 
Too soon I learned we pass away 

From those beloved, who for us weep 
For time will surely bring decay: 

I lay me down to sleep, dear one, 
I lay me down to sleep. 

O, the days of mirth and gladness. 

Save those my childish eyes have seen, 
Compared with those of woe and sadness. 

Are very few and far between. 
When we recall life's weary journey. 

The times we have least cause to weep 
AVere days we passed in happy childhood 

Or in the hours of blissful sleep, dear one, 
In the hours of blissful sleep. 

When a few more days are ended. 
When a few more journeys o'er 



204 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

AVlien a few more ways are wended 
We must fall to rise no more ; 

In that long perpetual slumber, 
The aching heart and weary feet, 

Shall rest while age on age shall number, 
We shall lay us down to sleep, dear one, 
We shall lay us down to sleep. 



RESIGNATION 

AH ! darling must I give you up ? 
Oft this sad thought comes through 
my brain. 
To me it is a bitter cup 

If to the dregs I have to drain. 
Thy voice comes to me o'er and o'er, 
Each day I miss you more and more ; 
Like you, I never loved before 
Nor shall I ever love again. 

And is it thus that we must part? 

I almost hear the sentence given, 
I feel the fingers at my heart, 

I feel the cords of affection riven. 
That dreadful day seems drawing nigh, 
Some certain signs so signify. 
And when it comes I can but die 

Or be to hopeless madness driven. 



RESIGNATION 205 

Ah ! darling must I part from thee ? 

And leave all hope of joy behind? 
If you prefer someone to me 

For thy dear sake I'll be resigned; 
Brightest of days have on us shone 
And sweetest joys together known 
Our mutual grief in tears have flown 

In one our mingled love's combined. 

Then darling must I give you up ? 

Can I forget the happy past 
"When memories like a mighty troop 

Through my burning brain are driving fast? 
For soon the time will come, I know 
And that e'er long, that I must go 
Where none awake to weep, or woe, 

This aching heart will rest at last. 

When other hands shall clasp thine own, 

And other lips to thine are pressed 
When peace, and joy, shall fill thy home 
And loving smiles thy heart shall bless, 
And I perchance am laid away 
So cold in death this heart shall lay 
Fast molderiug back to mother clay. 
That heart that ever loved you best. 



206 

APROPOS THE SCARLET LETTER 

OWHY art thou Avaking thou bit of hu- 
manity, 
Why look with such eyes I once loved 
so dear? 
They mind me of pleasure, of sorrow, and van- 
ity, 
And fates too delusive, to welcome you here. 
Peacefully slumber, my sweet little darling 

Until age, and reason awake thee to shame 
Too soon now thy innocent tears will be falling 
In sorrow for bearing thy own mother's name. 

0, had I the power to hide from thee ever 
The cause of thy grief, you never should 
know, 
But kindred affection, alas, I can't sever 

So still you must share in thy poor mother's 
woe. 
And were I to give my babe to another 

Where of earth's choicest treasures she could 
have her fill 
Yet there would be in the heart of thy mother 
A sorrow, that nothing but death could it 
still. 

Sweet little baby, who have you offended. 
And what fault is yours because you were 
born 

Outside of wedlock, which ne'er was intended? 
Yet you're a mark for the finger of scorn, 



APROPOS THE SCARLET LETTER 207 

What justice to slight you for the sin of an- 
other, 
Were my life your ransom, how quick it I'd 
give. 
The fates that ordained, now make you to 
suffer 
A lasting disgrace, so long as you live. 

But listen my darling, your father's a preacher. 

A servant of God, and a light in the Church, 
But pardon my child, he's a falsehearted 
creature 

As shown by the one he has left in the lurch. 
Beloved by his parish and greatly respected, 

At night on his pillow, he lays him to rest, 
And I in my cottage, lone and rejected 

While the sad scarlet letter burns deep on 
my breast. 



Child of misfortune, you will learn to remember 
Though a father disown you, and years may 
have floAATi 
The heart of thy mother is still warm and tender 
And yearns for that babe that she once called 
her own. 
"Father in Heaven, such ways seem inhuman. 
And Avhere is the justice in such a decree? 
That sorrow and shame must be heaped upon 
woman 
When man quite as quilty may ever go free." 



208 

A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR HER 
DEAD BABE 

CLOSE not that small coffin, grant me 
my right, 
Come pity my anguish, ye mothers 
around, 
Of my darling dead babe let me have one last 
sight, 
Before it's consigned to the pitiless ground. 



You may call it weakness, and wonder I've 
cared 
For a life, as you say, that I never have 
known. 
But the two lives in one together we've shared. 
The Bud is now blasted before it was blo\Mi. 



For long weeks together with motherly con- 
sistence. 

In high expectation my mind had its fill. 
By every sign of the little existence, 

My soul's every fiber with joy gave a thriU. 

Those wee tiny garments are worn all unheeded ; 

So skillfully wrought by a fond mother's 
hand. 
The neat little cradle will never be needed 

High in the chamber all empty will stand. 



LAMENT FOR HER DEAD BABE 209 

With fondest affection I've thought of my child. 
By anticipation, bright fancy was fed. 

But when I beheld thee my heart it went wild. 
But God knows my grief when I found you 
was dead. 

Those dead sunken eyes I imagined so bright, 
I should lovingly watch as the seasons went 

by, 
In death they were closed, e'er they e'en saw 
the light ; 
Those pale little lips never once breathed a 
sigh. 

That sweet little face, so near like another 
I had lovingly longed to lay on my breast. 

In death was embraced before knowing a 
mother, 
And soon in the cold silent earth it must rest. 

Pain I must feel, from thy natural subsistence, 
A sad, sad reminder, else why should I care? 

"When all I have left of thy earthly existence 
Is a dear little lock of thy soft baby hair. 

How can I live, so soon thou hast left me ! 

Thy dear little face I shall see nevermore. 
The same hand that gave, hath in sorrow bereft 
me, 

The joy of my heart, earth can never restore. 



210 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Still I know, if there's a far better home 

All free from life's sorrows, its pain, death, 
and care, 

The same voice that bid little children to come, 
"Will cheerfully welcome my dear baby there. 



THE GOLDEN ROBIN 

FAST falls the flying fleecy snow. 
Dark and dismal dawns the day, 
Dead and sear the grass lays low, 
In icy bonds the streamlets flow 
Ever on their endless way. 

Vale, and hill, fair fields, and flowers, 

All proclaim the summer's past, 
It's silvern shade and leafy bowers 
Left like some lingering hope of ours. 
Stripped of it's joy at last. 

As I stood watching that Winter's day, 

The late green earth white manteled o'er, 
A Summer songster in bright array 
Through falling snow she took her way 
Straight for my cottage door, 

"Oh! golden robin! I am surprised, 

That you at such a time should come, 
When dark and lowering are the skies 
And cold and fierce the wind may rise 
Around my cheerless home. 



THE GOLDEN ROBIN 211 

0, no, sweet bird, it will not do, 

In my cold home, you could not stay 

Yet often Avill I think of you. 

As you your southern way pursue 
You now must fly away. 

Sweet golden robin, don't think it wrong. 

That parted thus we now must be, 
The time would come, and that e'er long, 
That grief w'ould take the place of song, 
'Tis best for you and me. 

A loving mate perhaps there be. 
Who now is watching thy return, 

Calling thy name continually. 

As flj'ing fast from tree to tree, 
I would not make him mourn. 

Then clinging close to the window stay 

A shiver shook her little form, 
With beseeching eyes she seemed to say 
O, let me in, O, do, I pray. 

And shield me from the storm. 

But I was firm and yielded not, 

Although I knew where duty lay 
A selfish maiden in my cot, 
I wished no cares to take my thought 

And so I frightened her away. 

And then for weeks of Winter storm. 
Of wind and clouds the time went by. 



212 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

My little friend had not returned, 
I hoped had found some shelter warm, 
Beneath some southern sky. 

Yet often when in dreams I lay, 

I have been awaked by means untold, 

A bird-like voice would seem to say 

0, let me in, do. I pray, 
My heart is growing cold. 

Then springing up in great affright, 

I'd ask who's this that's calling me. 
But nothing save the moon's pale light, 
While watching o'er that Winter's night, 
In my empty room I see. 

But Winter days soon passed away, 

With Spring's bright sun the snow had fled, 
As I was looking out one day 
Just 'neath my chamber window lay 
That golden robin — dead. 

'Twas then my fault came plain to view, 
And penitent tears like rivulets run, 

And why that voice now well I Imew: 

I'd left for other hands to do 
The thing I should have done. 

Now superstitious you may me call. 

And say that birds do have no soul, 
But will not we account for all, 
To Him who minds the sparrow's fall 
Will not he heed the oriole? 



WANTAS'QUET VALLEY 213 

All fellow creatures we are made 

Of earth, and earthly blessings share, 

Then why should I withhold my aid 

From mortals of a lower grade 
Intrusted to my care? 



WANTAS'QUET VALLEY 

POETS may sing their praise of Greece, 
Or Italy's fair Rome, 
Where beauty blooms and wealth increase 
And standing guard is the price of peace ; 
There is a place surpassing these, 
And a little nearer home. 

Like as Jerusalem in by-gone days, 

Hemmed in by mountains round about. 
Close at the foot, the valley lays 
Safe from the blasts the wind-gods raise, 
AVhile a river runs through M'inding ways, 
And slowly saunters out. 

Two mighty chiefs, we understand, 

Called Aristocracy, and Common-sense, 

Long time ago, each tried his hand 

Of this fair vale, to get command ; 

But Common-sense secured the land 
Old A — was driven hence. 

I've traveled far in many a clime 
From Southern sun to Northern snows, 



214 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Yet of them all I fail to find 
A better place for human kind 
In all respects to please the mind, 

In the plain where old Wantas'qiiet flows. 

Many scenes have been enacted here, 
In this secluded valley 
Dramatic plays and games appear, 
A suicide, the mourner's tear. 
And brilliant men of many a sphere. 
And the Democratic rally. 

There is no place beneath the sun 

For size and population, 
Where high and low, old and young. 
So often meet for feast and fun 
AVith a warm welcome for everyone 

Without remuneration. 

Ah, to my heart and memory dear 
That lasts as long as life shall last 

Though I was never a native there 

I've often met them in their cheer 

With many now gone to that unknown sphere. 
To join the throng that's past. 

How short the time seems since our birth. 

"Life's but a span" some sage has said. 
The throng of to-day is fraught with mirth 
AVhether classed of much or little worth 
Alike return to mother earth 

While others come instead. 



215 
A FRAGMENT 

OFT the way seems dark and dreary 
Voyaging with this motly throng; 
Modes of human passion vary, 
Sometimes right and sometimes wrong. 
Friends are few, and foes are many, 

Truth's a gem in seas of lies; 
Friends are made by being friendly, 
Vinegar never catches flies, 

JOHN AND MARY 

A TRUE TALE OP YE OLDEN TIMES VERSIFIED 

OH! those times, those good old times, 
I would describe it if I could: 
"When the country was all new. 
And settlers' cabins, far and few. 
The land an almost unbroken wood. 

The settler chose the highest ground 

"Where beach and maple were wont to grow; 
And then for days, for miles around. 
The echoes woke by the axe's sound. 
As he felled the timbers blow by blow. 

And then there was a raising bee, 

And the settlers came from miles away, 
To lend a hand in time of need, 
That the new neighbor might succeed. 
And no one thought of asking pay. 



216 "WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

A house of logs was quickly made, 

"With barely boards for roof and Hoors, 
Fireplace and hearth of stone were laid, 
Where a big log fire its warmth conveyed 
To every place within the doors. 

The wife and baby soon appear 

To make complete a model home. 
The family altar was erected there, 
And round their hearth they Imelt in prayer. 
Giving thanks to God for His constant care 
And many mercies shown. 

Year by year his clearings grew, 

From the acre plot to full four score. 
His crops were good, for the land was new. 
And children numbering not a few, — 
Ofttimes a dozen or more. 

But the settler's life was no summer's dream, 

Filled with danger, toil and care. 
The savage redskin oft was seen, 
And oft was heard the panther's scream, 
The howling wolf and prowling bear. 

His path was always filled with foes. 

Nothing was safe without the yard. 
His sheep and cattle were chiefly those 
Of which the wild beasts mostly chose, 

Yet human life was seldom spared. 



JOHN AND MARY 217 

Yet of those times it might be said, 

"As thy day so shall thy strength be." 
The fear of death held for them no dread, 
And often gathered at some homestead, 
A young and jolly company. 

For youthful spirits will effervesce, 

'Tho with danger fraught on every hand, 
For in those days of dire distress, 
Hands were clasped and lips were pressed, — 
Mother Nature's great command. 

On such a time, so I've been told, 

I think my grandma told the same. 
For many a tale she could unfold, 
And songs she'd sing both good and old, 
Which deserved for her a brighter fame. 

She lived and loved and had her day, 

And many talents she possessed. 
But time is sure to bring decay. 
At middle age she passed away, 

To return no more, like all the rest. 

But I'm digressing, I plainly see, 
From the tale I had laid out to tell. 

But if you will but bear with me, 

I will describe it truthfully. 
As I remember it very well. 

Once on a time, one winter night, 
So many, many long years ago. 



218 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The earth was clad in her robe of white, 
And the cold-eyed stars were all the light, 
Save that reflected by the snow. 

An invitation had been sent 

To old and young both far and near, 
And so it was that many went, 
With happy hearts and good intent, 

To enjoy a night of social cheer. 

Many there were that came straightway, 

For it took but few families for a company. 
Some came on foot at the close of day, 
And some with oxen with sled for sleigh, 
For roads were of uncertain quantity. 

All were met with a shake of hand 
And a cordial greeting at the door. 

For at that time, throughout the land, 

Class distinction held no command : 
All were welcome, rich and poor. 

Among the other guests that came 
Was a couple, fair as are often met: 

John and Mary were their names, 

Leaders were they in all the games, 
Best dancers of the set. 

John was a tall and manly youth, 

With perfect form and visage bright; 
And Mary, with her flaxen curls. 
Was the envy of all the other girls, — 
A blonde of the truest type. 



JOHN AND MARY 219 

Modest, winning, kind and true, 

Of perfect mold and face as fair 
As any girl you would often find. 
Possessed was she of a brilliant mind, 

As blondes most always are. 

In game or play 'twas plain to see 

That Cupid's wand had made them one; 

So happy in each other 's company ; 

Jind the old folks whispered confidently 
That a match was sure to come. 

The so-called trencher then was rolled 

And guessings made on many a riddle, 
Forfeits were paid, but not in gold. 
And nimble feet stepped light and bold, 
To the cadence of the fiddle. 

There was a play, near out of date, 

By many now perhaps forgotten, 
When all were asked, both small and great 
With folded hands to sit and wait. 

While someone passed the button. 

Then each one offered open hand. 

While those passing drew their 's through 

With the button between their palms. 

And leaving it with any of them 
Saying, "Hold fast all I give you." 

Then each in turn was asked to guess 
In whose hands the button lay. 



220 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

But if mistaken, by wrong impress, 
For such mistake there was no redress, 
Except a forfeit they had to pay. 

And oft a forfeit would resound, 

For the kiss was largely in demand. 
And when the button was passed around. 
By John or Mary 'twas easy found, 

As 'twas often left in the other's hand. 

A simple easy little play, 

And little skill required, of course, 
Yet there are those at the present day 
Compared with that, I am bold to say. 

From a moral view are a great deal worse. 

The party o'er all started home. 

To reach the place as best they could. 
A few there were on foot had come. 
And John and Mary were them among, 
Must pass a lonely stretch of wood. 

The half way tree was scarce passed by, 
When sharp rang out from a distant hill 

A wolf's lone howl, or plaintive cry. 

And then another did reply, 
In a voice so sharp and shrill. 

And then again a dismal howl. 

And that was answered by another, 

P^rom place to place they seemed to call. 

Until a dozen or more in all 

Were coming on, and close together. 



JOHN AND MARY 221 

They hurried on, but on looking back, 

With but little chance to escape the brutes, 

There they saw upon their track 

The hideous, hungry, howling pack 
Most hotly in pursuit. 

Now something quickly must be done, 
Or killed they all would surely be ; 

So for a tree they quickly run. 

John stood the last till every one 
Was helped into the tree. 

He scarcely the first limb had reached 

When the foremost of the hungry brutes 
Came dashing up to their friendly beech 
And by a strong and desperate leap, 
Just barely grazed his boots. 

The baffled brutes then stood about, 

And snapped their jaws with strong desire. 
They sniffed the air with their pointed snout. 
Their upturned eyes shone fiercely out. 
Like burning balls of fire. 

There came a crash, or a breaking sound. 

From the limb that Mary rested on; 
And then was seen her snow-white gown. 
As through the boughs went fluttering do^\Ti, 
As she cried, "O God, I'm gone." 

All eyes looked down with speechless pain. 
Then there was an angry rush and roar, 



222 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Poor John, he strove the ground to gain. 
If not by other hands restrained, 

There would have been one victim more. 

The whole mad gang their victim caught 
Before she 'd hardly reached the ground : 

They barked and snarled, and strove, and 
fought, 

Tearing her in pieces on the spot. 
And dragging her body all around. 

Merciful God! Why should it been! 

Horror, anguish, and surprise! 
Words can't express the horrid din, 
They literally tore her limb from limb. 

And ate her up before their eyes. 

Perched in that tree they had to stay, 
The wolves never going out of sight. 
Until the dawn of another day, 
When one by one they sneaked aw^ay. 
As if warned by the coming light. 

Then silently they all crept down. 

Chilled and benumbed by the wintry air. 
The snow was stained for rods around. 
But naught of poor Mary could be found 
But a blood-stained lock of her flaxen hair. 

It seemed the sun shone sadly dowTi, 

As they took their way from the dreadful 
spot. 



HAIL, CHESTER 223 

Sad was the day as the news spread round. 
But time is a healer of many a wound. 
But poor Mary was ne'er forgot. 

Poor John lived on, and yet that scene 
In sleep was repeated o'er and o'er. 
It was always with him in his dream, 
' ' The wolves ! The wolves ! " he Avould waking 
scream 
Till he slept to wake no more. 

For many years the old tree stayed 

When all its mates had been laid low: 
And cattle grazed beneath its shade, 
And roimd its roots fair children played, 
Where Mary died so long ago. 

No marble tablet marked the place 

Or other monument had she. 
But when the traveler came that way 
It was pointed out without delay. 

And was always known as Mary's tree. 



HAIL, CHESTER 

ALL HAIL ! all hail ! to Chester to\\Ti 
The jest of many for miles around. 
They must now look up instead of dow-n 
On her fair features. 
A glorious change at last is found. 
By ten concretors. 



224 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

We gladly hail with heart, and eyes, 
Improvements in whatever guise 
And everything of enterprise 

Our approval meets. 
And yet, 'Twas not considered wise. 

To light our streets. 

All hail! all hail! to Pollard Brothers, 
Who set up shop for making clothes; 
Though small reward accrues to those 

Who take the stitches 
Each little income well he knows, 

Increases riches. 

While some sit round, and smoke, and talk 
Of great industries and taking stock. 
The Colonel always toes the chalk 

While others fail. 
From the new industry'-, he built his walk; 

All hail ! all hail ! 

The concrete fever fairly rages 
'Mong all conditions, sex and ages; 
Tho' Pierce, and Pollard, were the pioneer 
sages, 

To start the ball. 
To others whose names would fill these pages 

All hail ! to all I 

'Tis many years since the above was penned 
And concrete walks do now extend 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF PICTURE 225 

Through our beautiful burg from end to end, 

O'er hill and dale. 
While electric lights their luster lend, 

We now all hail ! 



A FATHER'S ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF 
HIS DAUGHTER'S PICTURE 

O WOULD I had the power of Burns, 
Or eloquence of Cowper, 
That I might thank you in return 
With words correct and proper. 
But as for that I must concede 
The will must answer for the deed, 
The tongue may lack what words we need; 
But actions live thereafter. 

Dear daughter, when your package came, 

I was filled with expectation. 
For I knew that nothing weak or tame 

Would answer your donation. 
So I, and mother, side by side, — 
We either cut, or the knot untied, — 
When your sweet picture we espied 

The choicest in creation. 

My old heart fairly gave a bound 

With gratitude at knowing, 
With all the pleasures you have found 

A daughter's love still showing. 



226 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

At the window I desired to be, 
And mother came and stood by me, — 
I turned so a tear she might not see. 
That down my cheek was flowing. 

Loving and long I viewed the face, 
Thinking of what it used to be: 

The childlike form, the childlike grace 
When seated on your papa's knee. 

I seemed to see you just the same, 

When first you learned to lisp my name. 

I live it 'er and o 'er again : 

Like as a dream it seems to me. 



Now here my muse must close her eyes 

To my absorbing theme : 
For mother comes, to my surprise, 

And bids me churn the cream. 
In most of places the poet desires 
To warm himself by the Muses' fires 
But in a churn his zeal expires 

And vanishes like a dream. 

The butter is brought, and once again 
My affrighted muse regains her place. 

No one can stand the dreadful strain, 

Unless they are well supplied with grace: — 

That is, if with a dasher churn 

For wicked thoughts will in them burn 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF PICTURE 227 

So here my sober thoughts return 
Unto my precious picture's face. 



How many days have come between 
Thy childhood and maturer years! 
How many suns our eyes have seen, 

How many days of joys and f^ars! 
From day to day how little shown, 
J^Vom infancj' to age full grown, 
And when the full fledged bird is flown 
The parent heart is filled with tears. 

But why withal should I repine? 

Or count my fate a dismal doom? 
The scion plucked from the parent vine 

May, in some other garden bloom. 
We know your heart of consistency 
Can neither estranged nor loveless be. 
You love us all most tenderly; 

And will till in the silent tomb. 

With many thanks for your picture, dear, 
I have often looked on it and smiled 

Though thoughts of parting brings a tear 
Yet to my fate I'm reconciled. 

Tho' far from home you may reside, 

And trust yourself to friends untried, 

A parent's love will e'er abide 
With every blessing for my child. 



228 

'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED 



^r I ^IS sad, yet sweet, when from friends we 
I part, 

^^ With choking voice, and moistened eye 
To know that we within that heart 

Shall long out-live that last good-bye; 
Though years and miles we may be sundered 
'Tis sweet to know we are remembered. 

When comes the time, "the bowl is broken" 
The race is run, life's journey ends. 

The departing soul feels words unspoken 
And craves the presence of its friends ; 

Though human aid can supply no breath 

Affection's cord is strong as Death. 

And when we're laid in the cold damp ground 
And hid away from the light of day 

Could dead deaf ears receive a sound 
When some sad mourner comes that way 

To hear them say while lingering near 

"A friend of mine lies buried here." 

And when as by that mound they knelt 
With a falling tear and heartfelt throb 

Our silent heart, though long were dead 
Were fain to give a responsive throb 

And say "God's blessing be on thee 

Because you do remember me." 



'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED 229 

Oh, no, no, no, 'tis not the case 

Death comes alike to one and all ; 
The fondest mother in death's embrace 

Heeds not her offspring's piteous call, 
And so the form that we love to-day 
Will soon be mouldering into clay. 

How sad the thought that we must part 
That we shall meet our loved no more. 

But faith and hope both give us heart 
And point us to that other shore 

Where after grieving, tears, and sighs, 

That life, that's worth the living, lies. 

And when I've crossed that stream I've feared 
And looking back from whence I've come 

And know my memory is revered 
By the little good I may have done 

For hopes deferred for which I 've sighed 

With this reward I'm satisfied. 

Poor, passing shadows of the earth 

Whose longest days so short, and numbered 
Whether blessed with much or little worth 

Each one loves to be remembered; 
In life, or death, so let it be 
With loving thoughts, remember me. 



230 

HOW CAN Y7E SING? 

HOW can we sing, since the baby's gone? 
The house seems empty, the rooms are 
sad and drear, 
No sound of laughter, or snatch of happy song 
And echo only greets the listening ear. 

Sadly we look where her high chair used to 
stand 
And in fancy seem to see her sitting there, 
With loving smile, and cunning wave of hand. 
Her bright blue eyes, and cheeks so plump 
and fair. 

We miss the crib w^herein she used to sleep ; 
Her many playthings scattered o 'er the parlor 
floor. 
Where a doting grandpa taught her how to 
creep. 
An accomplishment she never knew before. 

O, yes, our little darling's gone, 

We crave no mirth nor sound of music's note. 
Our eyes grow moist from a cause before im- 
known, 
And try to swallow dovm. the lump that fills 
the throat. 

I seem to see her on her papa's knees, 

When at the organ he ofttimes sat and played, 



HOW CAN WE SING? 231 

Her little hands drumming on the willing keys, 
And baby voice the sweetest music made. 

But now the organ gives forth no peal, 

But seems to stand a thing, like us, distressed. 

Reflecting back the way we so much feel, 
A silent sharer of our loneliness. 

How sad must be the fate of those 

Whose little ones are called from earth away, 
The crib, the chair, the baby clothes, 

A sad reminder of some happier day. 

But such events will oft appear, 

When parents part with those they dearly 
love. 
No, never more to greet them here ; 

Yet faith points upward to realms above. 

But thanks, our baby is not dead, 

But growing like the proverbial weed. 

With parental hands to smooth her little bed 
And minister to her every need. 

Though far from us she now is gone, 

W^ith anxious thought our hearts still yearn. 

May the powers protect and keep her well and 
strong 
And oft to grandpa's house and home return. 



232 

AN ACROSTIC 

FOR A COMRADE AND TENTMATE IN THE U. S. 
SERVICE 

COME Here And Read Life's Earnest 
Story 
H ere lies the secret few have found. 
A 11 seem inclined to greed or glory, 
R esting not till aged and hoary. 
L ife's greatest round is but a bound, 
E arnest effort should be found, 
S ome good to do while time's before thee. 
H ark. 



L ook After Reason, Keep It Near 
A nd with wisdom fill the mind. 
R ighteous conduct feels no fear, 
K indness oft makes others kind. 
I ncline to justice strong and clear, 
N aught has earth to harm you here. 



FRANCHISE 

MY dear Miss — you ask me this, 
If I attend the Town meeting to- 
night 
However the case may there be placed 
To vote for the electric light. 



FRANCHISE 233 

Now by the way, just let me here say, 

And it may not be amiss, 
And I will agree it shall so be 

If you'll give each voter a kiss. 

If you're feeling that such, I'm asking too 
much 

And more than ought to be, 
Why, I will consent to be quite content 

If you'll extend my share unto me. 

In this I can trace my grandfather's case, 
Which caused his descendants to grieve 

Because he partook of some ill-sorted fruit, 
Presented by grandmother Eve. 

Were this the condition, and I take the position, 

Regardless of goodness or guile 
I'm not the first wight, who has bartered his 
right, 

For a woman's kiss, or her smile. 

You may so insist, I am asking amiss, 
But of this little matter take note, 

I have just as much right to ask for a kiss 
As j'ou in directing my vote. 

Your beauty and ways, have attracted men's 
praise. 
Their devotions have paid at thy shrine. 
Therefore I don't blame you, but highly esteem 

you. 

But remember I'm over the line. 



234 

FACTS AND PROPHECY, or THE 
EDITOR'S HARD FATE 

THERE'S many positions and pursuits of 
the day 
For pleasure and profit admired, 
While the newspaper editor's place (by the 
way). 
At best should least be desired. 

The editor has some deep water to ford, 

And all sorts of favor to win ; 
Of all kinds of people, must say a good word, 

No matter if they're ugly as sin. 

But truth will out, he gives them a twist 

In a paragraph, sentence, or line. 
In a moment they're ready with a brick in each 
fist 

To knock the poor scribe out of time. 

Some town correspondent sends in his news 
With a cut on some person, no doubt! 

In arranging the copy the editor must choose. 
And some of the matter's left out. 

The week comes around, the post office is 
sought, 

"Some one will catch blazes" 'tis hinted; 
The eye scans each column, O, horrible thought 

Not a word of their slander 's been printed. 



FACTS AND PROPHECY 235 

Their anger is started, they are up in a huff, 
They will injure them all they are able, 

Saying his paper abounds with such miserable 
stuff, 
It is not fit to take out to the stable. 

There's many a gentleman of high towering 
mind. 
Must keep pace with the news of the day; 
With his paper in pocket, and three years be- 
hind, 
And the editor needing his pay. 

Meanwhile the poor editor toils on at his desk. 

Working and trusting for pay, 
But promises, and lies, are not puddings, or 
pies, 

He gets leaner and lanker each day. 

But death comes at last, his labor is done, 
No more of his "ad's" or his news; 

This little inscription inscribed o'er his tomb: 
"Died for want of his dues." 

MORAL 

Delinquent subscribers, on you I call. 

Pray lend an ear, your doom to hear 

In deep contrition drop a tear ; 

You will go to a place Avhere you can't get beer, 

Where the climate is warm and water is scarce 

You will burn your clothes, if nothing worse, 



236 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The hand of justice will surely fall; 

* ' The mills of the gods grind exceeding small ; ' ' 

Such is the fate of one and all, 

Who cheat the poor editor here. 

THE MILLENNIUM 

HOW many there be that set the day, 
And show by some uncertain sign. 
When this old earth shall pass away. 
And close up her accounts with time. 
While some have even gone so far 
As to dress themselves in white attire 
And mount some steep a little higher 
For a flight to that Heavenly clime. 

Why should immortal minds at least 
Be to such threadbare theories given 

To take such worthless, useless yeast, 
Their spiritual loaf to leaven? 

And fix their faith on words like these 

"As untimely fruits are cast from trees 

When shaken by a violent breeze 
So stars shall fall from Heaven," 

But I can point you to a sign 

A sign as sure as life, 
Which will plainly mark the end of time, 

That is, of broil, and strife ; 
When human nature scorns the art 
To Imow, and act, a double part 



AN ACROSTIC 237 

And each man's wife is his sweetheart 
And his sweetheart his own wife. 

All jealousies at once will cease, 

And no more songs of "A Broken Home." 
Tnhappy pairs will then find peace, 

Divorces will no more be known. 
The preacher then can quit his desk, 
The printer dump his printing press 
And every heart will then find rest, 

The Millennium will have come. 

AN ACROSTIC 

E ven Light Lies Ever Near, 

L ights up the weary wanderer's wr.y 

h ife is full of pleasure here. 

E very cloud will disappear, 

N ight will turn to day. 

W hile ill fortune listless lingers, independence 

as may seem, 
I s the helper to assist us, Hope an achor, 

Faith a beam. 
li ife is full of petty troubles, oft our lamp 

seems burning low. 
L ittle sorrows appear double, when magnified 

by borrowed woe. 
I mmortal minds should ne'er be sighing. 
A Iways trusting, woe defying, 
M akes a tonic well worth trying; 
S ure to bring relief, I know. 



238 

DESPERATION 

AWAY all heartaching, begone from my 
bosom, 
No more shall sad sorrow be the source 
of my lays. 
Blow high, or blow low, whether the bush blast 
or blossom 
I am bound to be merry the rest of my days. 
Should winds of affliction come over me stealing, 
And scatter my comforts like wind-driven 
chaff, 
I will heed not its horror, by force of false feel- 
ing 
In the midst of my misery I will lay down 
and laugh. 

There once was a time, tho' time has no mean- 
ing, 
It seems like a dream of some dim distant 
shore 
When tenderest passion in beauty was beaming 
Now fast fades the shadow to return never 
more. 
No ties of affection shall ever possess me 

My heart will grow colder till softened by 
death ; 
I will smile back at pain, or what once would 
distress me 
I will mock at my misery, and lay down and 
laugh. 



AN ACROSTIC 239 

Still stands on that shore in the dim misty 
distance, 
A figure, the fairest my fancy e'er knew, 
My boat's onward speeding, the distance un- 
heeding 
Till the shore and the figure are lost to my 
view. 
Come storm and disaster, my spirit relieving 
No more will 1 follow the Siren's sad path 
"Where there's no deceiving, nor grieving, nor 
leaving, 
On the soft bed of Ocean, I will lay down and 
laugh. 



AN ACROSTIC 

I n early morn Auroras rays, 

L ifts high the curtains of the night, 
O pens the windows and displays 

V iews of life and light and praise, 
E ach soul's delight. 

Y et dim the light, that falls from Heaven, 
O ver our skies, dark clouds are driven, 

U nless by finer feelings given, love's purer 
light. 



240 

THE SHIFTLESS OLD FARMER 

Tune, Winham 

WHAT wealth surrounds the farmer's 
path, 
As followed by some old farmer! 
A stunted pig, a lousy calf, 
Two turkeys and a gobbler. 

If children cry or beg for bread, 

His barefoot wife, scarce clothes to wear. 

He keeps a dog that must be fed, 
To help along this old farmer. 

Or if he strive great wealth to win, 

And shows he is a financier 
He keeps two dogs, and pups thrown in. 

And ranks himself a millionaire. 

A poor old horse he tries to keep 

And rides whene'er he wants to stir. 

In tobacco smoke he is always steeped 
A highly scented old farmer. 

His mortgage notes at length come due, 

No funds are Avith the treasurer. 
His patron puts foreclosure through, 

And bounces out this old farmer. 

He curses luck, and jaws his wife. 

And lays the whole blamed thing to her, 



LINES WRITTEN FOR WM. DOYEN 241 

But keeps his dog and smokes his pipe, 
Just like a happy old farmer. 

If cold or want should him attend, 
He is not to blame, but others are. 

He goes to see some distant friend, 
A resourceful man is this old farmer. 

He votes for license every time, 

And takes his pay in a cheap cigar, 

His wife works out and pays his fine, 
For getting full, this old farmer. 

Finally old death has him espied, 

And wonders what God made him for, 

He knocks him out, and so he died, 
This shiftless, worthless old farmer. 



LINES WRITTEN FOR WM. DOYEN 
WHILE HE WAS ILL 

RESPECTED friend, to me you send. 
To make you a composition 
Concerning your case, the people, and 
place, 
Your illness and every condition. 

There was a time, when I could rhyme 

Considered quite acceptable; 
But now I fear as things appear 

It might be very objectionable. 



242 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Should this not seem to hit the theme 

I assure you what the fact is ; 
You will please excuse my sluggish muse, 

She is sadly out of practice. 

About your friends, no one contends, 
But very kind they all have been, 

But when once more you reach the shore, 
"Watch out," they do not push you in. 

For this you'll find in every clime 

Such selfish interest, pocket pelf. 
But I'll not decry any particular guy 

I am only human myself. 

It seems to me, I'd contented be. 
Nor wish my illness a speedy end. 

Or wish for verses, with two such beautiful 
nurses 
At my bedside to attend. 

It's no fault of ours if we love the flowers 

Or in our presence get them. 
Nor any harm to feel their charm 

But, ah! one must not pick them. 

Well, as for the Doctor it makes no matter 
What people say or think of him. 

For in every case where he has a race 
With death, he is sure to win. 



MY SINGING WIFE 243 

And now don't you think this will do 

A weary moment to beguile? 
So I'll regard as my reward 

If only this produce a smile? 



MY SINGING WIFE 

SLOWLY, slowly, day is closing, 
Soon the night comes dark and drear. 
So the sands of life are flowing, 
Soon will end my journey here ; 
Many the draught of earth I've tasted, 
Of sorrow's cup and pleasures, rife, 
But the joy that's longest lasted, 

Was from the voice of a singing wife. 

Talk not to me of wealth or station. 

Of gilded halls or great reno^vn, 
The choicest gems of God's creation. 

Are oft in humble places found ; 
How blest the hour what joy abounded 

When from day it's toil and strife. 
With little flaxen heads surrounded 

I've listened to my singing wife. 

At even-tide, times without number, 
Our babe was no more blest than I 

AVhon I've repaired for rest and slumber. 
Charmed by her soothing lulla-by 



244 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Storms would sometimes come 'tis true, 

And she pitched her key to a different strain 

But soon the sun of love broke through 
And she resumed her song again. 

Fairest flowers seem first to wither ; 

Scarce life's day had reached it's noon, 
Those beautiful lips were closed forever, 

That voice was hushed too soon, too soon. 
Alas, can I forget the hour, 

Though all aroimd are gay and blithe, 
When summoned by that unseen Power 

I parted with my singing wife. 

In course of time, I wed another. 

Companion, on life's weary road. 
To my little ones to be a mother. 

And help me bear my heavy load. 
A mild and gentle meek-eyed creature, 

Who bore a wife's and mother's part. 
Yet no note of joy escaped her, 

A silent echo of my heart. 

Many years we voyaged together 

With no outward break or strife, 
Yet I ne'er could understand her. 

So different from my singing wife ; 
Wives and children all have left me, 

While I a broken reed remain. 
Death's cold dark wave, I'd welcome gladly, 

But to hear that voice again. 



LETTER TO REAL ESTATE AGENT 245 

And now I'm old, life's voyage most done, 

I sit within my big arm chair, 
In fancy seems two forms to come, 

And stand on either side me there. 
One with sober, solemn, mein. 

The other with hope and pleasure rife, 
So vividly appears the scene, 

I list for the voice of my singing wife. 

]\Iy time is short, but a little longer, 

AVhen I the harbor bar must pass, 
A wish for rest is growing stronger, 

I've seen of earthly joys the last. 
And when the angel of death draws near, 

And cuts this slender thread of life, 
I hope to meet in a better sphere, 

My tender, loving singing wife. 

LETTER TO REAL ESTATE AGENT 

YOUR letter sir, I did receive, 
The 7th inst., being Saturday eve, 
As agreed 'twixt you and I, 
And now will hasten a reply; 
Now IMr. G., I do regard, 
That price is high with times so hard, 
And furthermore one other thing, 
1 expected more than that one spring; 
But from what you say I should infer, 
You can easily find a customer. 
But as for me 'twould never do, 
Respectfully, L. A. Ballon. 



24G 

MY GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 

/ / y^~X yes ! I know, it was long ago, 

i 1 Long, long before my generation, 
^-^ When blazoned trees marked the 
traveler's way 
And the horse was means of transportation, 
Tho' very slow. 
Or this country's folks were called a nation 
So long ago." 

And now I will say this is the way. 

My grandmother began this tragic tale; 
She could amuse the old or please the young, 
In song or story, she could not fail 

Of being best. 
Her's was the one that would prevail 
Above all the rest. 

And the people thought their pleasures nought 

In the place where dwelt this honored pair ; 
On all occasions she was sought 
From the apple-cut to the house of prayer, 

For she could sing 
Or make herself useful anywhere. 
At anj'thing. 

On festive nights when the people met 
To enjoy themselves in a social time 
With games, and riddles, song and dance, 



MY GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 247 

For the eight-hand reel fell into line 

With no fiddler near 
My grandma's voice in cadence fine 

Rose sweet and clear. 

Mother was she of children three, 
Two daughters and an only son, 
And reared them all to maturity, 
A mother's duty faithfully done. 

All honor won. 
Blessed be her hallowed memory 
For such a son. 

Destructive time, so it appears 

Long years ago laid her to rest, 
Her deeds outnumbering far her years 
Were full of love and usefulness. 

She was not old. 
Among the stories she possessed 
This one she told : 

"It was long ago when the land was new, 

And blazoned trees were the traveler's mark 
And settlers' huts were far and few 
And none could travel after dark 

Until the morning; 
The redskins' whoop, or the gray wolf's bark 
Was a horrid warning. 

Sometimes a settler cleared his ground 
And built his cabin in a sightly spot 



248 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

So he might see for miles around 

The smoke arise from some neighbor's cot 

For company. 
For none could tell in an hour what 

Their fate might be. 

If they kept a cow she wore a bell 

And her pasture limits was the ocean's bound; 
By the 'tinkle, tinkle' they could tell 
At night where bossy could be found 

With little cost. 
If the faithful bell gave forth no sound 
Poor boss was lost. 

Next morning when the sun arose, 
The settler with his trusted gun 
Would sally forth, just to disclose 
Why his milk supply refused to come 

For her usual cares. 
He found her dead by a little run, 
Being eaten by bears. 

Such things as this often occurred 

And was deemed an item mild 
Compared with the story often heard 
That some fond parent had lost his child 

By Indians or beasts of prey. 
Yet there were men enlightened styled 
Far worse than they. 

Now usually where the roadways crossed 
A little hamlet would begin, 



MY GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 249 

Tlie school house with its frame of logs 
And a larger building called an inn, 

Where travelers staid, 
"Where board, and lodging, tobacco and gin 
"Was their stock in trade. 

Some of these inns were truly pure 

And in every way deserved the name, 
"While others received suspicion sure 
As dens of vice and crime and shame 

Within their door, 
For travelers they oft would entertain 
Who were seen no more. 

Once there came a man from a distant town 
With his good gray horse who passed that 
way, 
He neared an inn as the sun went down 
And so he thought he would stop and stay 

For rest and food. 
Now it chanced to be a hostelry 
That was not good. 

Two burly hostlers took his 'grey' 

And to the log-barn led him do^\Ti. 
This man was going a debt to pay 
In the King's good gold, full forty pound, 

A pretty sum. 
A lady on the back porch came 'round 
And motioned 'come.' 



250 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

He being an easy-going man 

And knowing not whereof she meant 
But seeing her beckon with her hand 
He took the same for wrong intent 

And thus misplaced her. 
So quickly up the steps he went 
And would embraced her. 

Pale was her cheek and sad her eye, 
With firmness keeping him at bay, 
Saying, 'I could not bear to see you die, 
One so fresh in manhood's day 

With life before you. 
Don't go to bed, or on it lay, 
Thus I implore you.' 

And as she spake she turned and fled 

Saying, ' Now, young man. Adieu ! Adieu ! ' 
For Heaven 's sake go not to bed ; 

You may think me wrong, but my heart is 
true, 
Altho' I say it. 
If I've been seen to speak with you 
My life must pay it.' 

And there he stood like one amazed, 
His feet felt fastened to the floor 
Until the host with smiling face 

Came 'round the corner and stood before. 

Saying, with wicked grin, 
'My guests usually enter at the front door. 
Come, let's go in.' 



MY GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 251 

The old tall clock struck supper time; 

In the dining room was a table spread, 
Three big strong men sat in a line 
The landlord sitting at the head 

In a big arm chair, 
And that self-same girl who nothing said 
Was waitress there. 

Supper over, he was shown his room, 

"With a tallow-dip, then a luscious light. 
Everything looked well, no sign of gloom, 

The pillows and sheets were snowy white 
As those at home. 

The landlord bid him a kind ' good-night. ' 

He was left alone. 

The stand and walls were burden free 

Of literature of any kind. 
No scrap of picture could he see, 

For one brief moment to take his mind 

Except the bed 
Upon which he was inclined 
To rest his head. 

He set him down in sad suspense 

His pulse beat high, but with courage low. 
Two flintlock pistols were his defence. 
And they not always sure to go, 

"Without repriming; 
"While vicious voices down below 
Kept constant chiming. 



252 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

The clock had tolled the midnight hour, 

And sleep had stolen away his fears, 
For Morpheus held him in his power 
In drowsiness, so it appears, 

Low hung his head, 
When that voice seemed sounding in his ears, 
*Go not to bed.' 

He opened his eyes and looked around, 
And this he saw by the failing light, 
A section of the floor go down 

And the bed fast falling out of sight. 

He sat aghast, 
For had he slept thereon that night 
Had been his last. 

Soft as a leaf may sail the skys 

Or cloud may kiss the mountain's crown 
As silently as vapors rise, 

So stilly did that bed go down. 

Then there arose 
Voices of excited sound 
In angry oaths. 

And then he heard the landlord say, 

As boots came thundering up the stairs, 
' By the gods ! he never shall get away ; 
Someone has told him to beware 

You may rely; 
And if I knew who the traitors are 
They too should die.' 



]\IY GRANDMOTHER'S STORY 253 

They reached the door, and then with curses 

Immediate entrance did demand. 

He didn't wish to waste his forces, 

And so in silence took his stand 

Ready for action 
So, if blood was spilt, to take a hand 
In the transaction. 

Sometime they lingered near the door-way 

]\Ieantime their anger growing hot, 
They sometimes coaxed, and sometimes threat- 
ened 
And sometimes through the panels shot, 

Thinking to scare him. 
Until at last, so fierce they got, 

They made a rush, and broke the door in. 

A sharp report from the traveler's gun, 

And the foremost villain fell down dead. 
For a breath the next refused to come 
Till the host gave orders 'Go ahead.' 

The end was near — 
One more report, and the landlord fled. 
The coast was clear. 

He then sat down with his ghastly guests 

The light having gone out meantime. 
One had registered in the death angel's book 
And the other was about to sign. 

Ah! was it a dream? 
A pistol shot the echoes shook 
And then a woman's scream. 



254 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

And thus he sat till the break of day- 
Filled with sorrow, fear, and wrath. 
For he knew not but some miscreant lay 
For secret mischief along his path 

For his destruction. 
And he believed a better way 
Was introduction. 

Daylight revealed the two men dead. 

Death had set his mark on each up-turned 
face. 
He looked around and behold the bed 
Had again resumed its accustomed place. 
Sweet rest to bring, 
But now for it he had no taste, 
A rejected thing. 

On going below he opened a door 

And met a scene of sad surprise 
For there he saw upon the floor. 

The maid he met the night before 
Her long black hair all soaked with gore, 

And the death film in her eyes. 

He reached her side and assayed to speak 

For as yet he saw she was not dead. 
Her feeble breath came short and weak. 
And the bullet wound showed in her head 

From where he stood. 
Her lips were blue, more pale her cheek 
From loss of blood. 



MY GRAND]\rOTPIER'S STORY 255 

lie said 'Dear lady, can't you speak? 

Can not you give me one reply? 
"Who are your people that I may seek 
Of your sad fate to notify 

Or are there none?' 
* Thank — God — you 're saved — but — I — must 
die.' 
A gasp and she was gone. 



Help was summoned from a neighboring burg 

And the three dead bodies laid to rest. 
The men were buried at the forks of the road 
With a stake driven through each one 's breast. 

But the little maid 
Had funeral service, the very best 
And in the church yard laid. 

Like a sleeping angel did she seem, 

Laid in her coffin, lined with white, 
Placed in her hand Avas a sprig of green, 

"While the preacher performed the last sad 
rite. 
Plenteous tears were shed. 
None ever beheld such a solemn sight 
'Round an unknown dead. 



They searched the inn, and there they found 

An elevator fine to see 
And a deep dark vault, way under ground 



256 WAYSIDE MUSINGS 

Containing bodies, twenty-three 

In every position. 
Some decomposed to a great degree 

And some in fair condition. 

The landlord never was heard of more, 

Perhaps the redskin took his scalp 
Or in his wandering the forests o'er 

May have gone to feed the she-wolf's whelp. 
No one can tell. 
But this is the way the people felt, 
God's ways are just. 
He knows what is best, 
He doeth all things well. 



GOOD-BYE 

ND now kind friends receive our thanks. 
Which are sincere and true, 
For patiently you have borne with us, 
To read this volume through. 



A 



As from weary day we welcome night 
And for sweet rest we sigh, 

So here the muse goes out of sight 
And now we say, good-bye. 



FEB 29 1912 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



FED 2P ^^^ 



LiBRABV OF 



"i;"''0i8604 



621 3 



